


Worthy

by flourchildwrites



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Becoming a Death Scythe, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Developing Relationship, Dubious Ethics, F/M, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Headcanon, My First Work in This Fandom, Pre-Canon, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-19 13:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14238138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flourchildwrites/pseuds/flourchildwrites
Summary: Marie Mjolnir is one witch's soul shy of becoming a death scythe when karma deals her meister  a rotten hand.  With Marie's window of opportunity coming to a close, Lord Death makes a bold suggestion:  Pair Marie with the DWMA's most promising, if unstable, meister.  Of course, young Franken Stein isn't without his own baggage.Is Stein worthy enough to wield the famed lightning hammer?





	1. Prologue:  Reid N. Wheap

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! Welcome. Pull up a chair. Make yourself comfortable. 
> 
> Once upon a time, this fandom had an abundance of Marie/Stein fics with more posted each and every day. It was a wonderful era filled with angst and fluff and lemons galore. Well, I haven't seen one in a while, and it pains me. So, I decided to write something that's been rolling around in my mind for a few months. 
> 
> I'm not Soul Eater expert, so please forgive any canon discrepancies or inconsistencies. I also do most of my writing at night when I'm supposed to be, you know, sleeping, and that takes its own toll on my writing. Tags will be updated as the story evolves. Characters will also be added as I go.
> 
> As always, suggestions for future chapters or any feedback whatsoever is GREATLY appreciated as long as it's constructive! Bookmarks, subscriptions, kudos and comments always brighten my day!
> 
> Happy reading! 
> 
> -A

* * *

  _Then he gave the hammer to Thor, and said that Thor might smite as hard as he desired, whatsoever might be before him, and the hammer would not fail; and if he threw it at anything, it would never miss, and never fly so far as not to return to his hand…_

 _—_ The Prose Edda, translated by Arthur Gilchrist Brodeur

* * *

 

“Your soul is mine, Circe!”

Marie suppressed a disappointed groan.  Reid was a good meister, an attractive blonde hair and blue-eyed Adonis.  But he never missed an opportunity to deviate from the plan these days, especially when their carefully laid preparations called for stealth.  With 99 kishin eggs in the bag (the bag being Marie’s stomach), the hammer meister was growing cocky.  But Marie pushed her frustrations aside. 

This brawl, this particular fight was the culmination of seven years’ hard work.  Mistakes meant consequences, deadly ones.  This was the day that she, Marie Mjolnir, would become a death scythe… If Reid could slay the witch Circe.  And, well, that suddenly seemed like a big “if.”

“Well now, what do we have here,” the pale figure responded with cold gentility.

She chuckled, a sound that caused the hair on the back of Marie’s neck to stand on end.  At first glance, Marie thought that Circe looked like a beautiful, if frightfully pallid, woman, but Reid had not been so easily deceived.  The woman’s soul wavelength gave her away. 

Reid described the witch’s soul as a glowing mauve sphere with a single predatory fin endlessly circling the perimeter.  Circe’s blue hair moved like a windswept tide.  Her locks framed a pair of coal black eyes and gutting cheekbones.  The woman’s sadistic smile revealed layers jagged teeth, reminiscent of a shark.  Yes, just as the assignment brief had supposed, she was a witch through and through. 

“Oh I see,” the witch continued, her voice laced with mock surprise. “Two little children wandered away from big bad Death’s academy.  You could get hurt, you know.  Maybe I should teach you and your little weapon a lesson.”

“Marie, weapon form now!” Reid bellowed as Circe’s form rippled with salacious delight.  

Wasting no time, the sea witch lunged forward as Marie transformed in a flash of brilliant white-yellow light.  Her hammer form was sleek, all glinting silver metal with lighting markings from hilt to head.  Reid grasped her handle with a practiced ease and handily dodged Circe’s first spell, a concentrated sphere of water housing a sickly green substance. Marie winced in the reflection of her hammer form as the sphere burst against a nearby brick wall sending a few droplets of green ooze colliding with her metal.  The foreign substance sizzled and filled the air with a sour odor.

“Careful Reid!” Marie warned through their resonance link.  “That’s acid!  No more surprises.  Let’s stick to the plan and wait for our opening.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” the hammer meister retorted.  “I’ll bag her soul before you break in that new skirt of yours.”

“Well… thanks… I think…”  Marie used to believe that statements like this were complimentary, perhaps even considerate.  She wasn’t so sure anymore.  _I’ll bag her soul_ , he had said.  Wasn’t that supposed to be a we?  As in, we’ll bag her soul?

Circe didn’t give Marie time to ponder that thought.  She muttered an indecipherable incantation and produced a trident formed completely out of coral.   Marie viewed the colorful protrusions with both admiration and trepidation; she hoped her meister saw that the spear was as beautiful as it was dangerous.  With a shrill laugh, Circe twirled the jagged instrument around her body bringing it to rest in a menacing stance, pointed directly at the pair.

“You are quick boy, I give you that.  But I only need to hit you once,” she purred.  “I’ll be gentle if you come quietly.  Don’t want to rust your little weapon friend.  That wouldn’t make a very nice corpse to send back to old-Deathy.”

Clearly angered, Reid charged on Circe with a telltale yell.  The witch widened her stance and countered Reid’s first upward swing.  Marie both heard and felt the sickening crunch of metal hitting coral as she bounced back.  She was sure the shiny finish of her hammer form was marred with uneven scratches, and Circe’s trident was also worse for the wear. 

However, the sea witch took advantage of her opening with gusto.  Even as Reid attempted to block, Circe jabbed the sharp ends of her trident into the spry meister’s side.  Reid cried out in pain as the calcifications ripped through his shirt and tore at his muscled abdomen. 

“We can’t take another hit like that,” Maire cautioned through the link.  “Long range attacks will work better.  Throw me!”

“No!” growled Reid in response.  “You’re too heavy.”

The hammer meister recovered quickly as the witch swiped at his legs.  Reid jumped, avoiding the tridents deadly prongs and landing a sideways blow to Circe’s head.  The force of Marie’s powerful hit caused Circe to topple over, dropping her trident.  The sea witch’s blue hair splayed over her face as she shrieked in pain.  Both weapon and meister remained ready to attack, but Circe didn’t get up.

“We got her!” Marie exclaimed.   “Now, just like we practiced, Reid.  A clean, quick shot at close range.  Finish her, make me a death scythe and we’ll get that wound looked at.”

But Reid didn’t move in for the kill shot.  A cruel smile stretched to the corners of his face as he surveyed the crumpled body before him.   He brought his hand to the gory gash and clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk… Now, Marie, why would I make this quick and clean?” Reid asked languidly. He spoke aloud, loud enough for Circe to hear every word.  The hammer meister causally tossed the lightning hammer in his hands as he advanced on Circe’s rousing figure.  “This witch ruined my shirt.  I think she needs a little pain before we reap her soul.  What do you say to introducing this water witch to some lightning?”

“I don’t know, Reid.  I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” the weapon skeptically responded over their resonance.  _That_ move wasn’t ready.  All things considered, Marie knew they’d gotten lucky.  It had been downright foolish to charge into a fight (with a witch no less) without careful preparation.  Part of Marie still wished they’d stuck to the plan and finished their reconnaissance instead of charging headfirst into the battle royale, but she couldn’t argue with results.

“Soul resonance, Marie!” Reid bellowed.  Despite his earlier protestations about her weight, Marie felt Reid rear back, ready to throw her.  Coupled with the soul resonance, that could only mean one thing.  A lightning attack, they’d been trying to master is for six months with no luck… and something else bothered her about it, but Marie couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason.

“Shark, ark, narc, lark!  Shark, ark, narc, lark!” Circle chanted weakly.  A moderate rain enveloped Marie and Reid.

“Is that all you’ve got, witch!” Reid taunted.  “Marie, Now!”

“I think we should just…”

“I’M THE MEISTER! NOW SOUL RESONANCE!”

Resigned and ignoring the little voice in the back of her head, Marie obliged.  She closed her eyes, quieted her thoughts and reached out for the hammer meister.  The connection sparked to life as Reid tossed the lightning hammer at the witch with all his might. 

He didn’t realize that he hadn’t worn rubber soled shoes.

He didn’t see the small puddle around his feet, connecting him with the sea witch.

The scene played out in a split second.  Marie struck Circe in the shoulder, channeling a dose of white hot electricity through her.  She screamed with a sadistic smile, hunkering down in the puddle connecting her with the hammer meister.  The lightning traveled instantaneously through the water.  It coursed through Reid, wiping the smile from his face.

The wounded witch got away, and it was all Marie could do to get her meister, Reid N. Wheap, to the doctor in time.  With each wrong turn Marie frantically cursed herself.  It would all have gone so much better if she’d had a better sense of direction.


	2. Advice From a Shinigami

The best thing about Lord Death was that he didn’t hover.  Meisters and their weapons left for missions and, more often than not, returned triumphant.  But even when a pair returned worse for the wear, or not at all, the masked death God presided over the battle from his room of clouds and crosses.  And while his watchful gaze rarely wavered, he was slow to interfere, and then only by proxy.

So when Lord Death requested an audience with Marie, sans Reid, she nearly lost her lunch.  Of course, it wasn’t as if Reid was in any shape to attend such a meeting.  All 95 pounds of Nurse Cherry had vigorously chastised Marie upon their return, as if she purposefully electrocuted her own meister.  Which, she fruitlessly stressed to the pink haired caregiver, she had not. 

It was an accident, a terrible, unfortunate accident.

Yet, Marie’s repeated rhetoric was hollow and of small comfort to the hammer meister who resided in the DWMA’s hospital wing.  Reid’s state of mind wavered with unpredictable bouts of confusion, and his eardrums were ruptured, making conversation as difficult as it was unpleasant.  His heart monitor beat steadily counting the long seconds of each encounter.  Reid blamed his weapon for the accident.

But it wasn’t an accident. 

Marie knew that.  Reid charged into a fight without a plan of attack.  He took a chance on a move that he couldn’t fully control just so he could see Circe suffer.  And, like an obedient weapon, Marie had obeyed her meister, trusted his judgment over her own nagging reservations.  Surely, Lord Death would have seen that.  Surely, she would not be punished, expelled and sent home to dear daddy Mjolnir in disgrace.

A memory stirred uncomfortably in Marie’s mind.

“Become a death scythe.  Make us proud,” her father called out as she left home, DWMA bound.  He had no kind words of encouragement, and Marie understood that her old man’s exclamation was not a well-wish.  It had been a command. After all, Marie inherited her weapon form from his illustrious lineage, the one the meister Thor forged into a legend.  She knew all too well that it was up to her to uphold the Mjolnir family legacy; it was up to her father to ensure she was motivated.

Though it seemed that Lord Death did old man Mjolnir one better.  If a solo summons to the Death Room didn’t motivate Marie, nothing would.  With a calming breath, shoulders back and head held high, Marie stepped through the reflective entrance and proceeded through the tunnel of red Torri gates, fashioned with glistening blades to look like guillotines.  _Nope_ , Marie thought sarcastically, _this isn’t ominous at all._

“Marie,” Lord Death said while motioning for the buxom blond to join him on the dais.  “Hiya! So good to see you.  Why, I don’t remember the last time we had a chat, just you and me!”

The young weapon smiled weakly while her stomach performed gravity-defying somersaults.  As always, Lord Death was as welcoming as a wellspring of darkness could be.  His white mask and hands existed in stark contrast to his black shroud, and if the death God hid any grave concerns behind his whimsical skull mask, his voice remained downright cheery.  A study in contradictions.

Still, Marie gulped as she slid into the white chair opposite Lord Death.  She neatly folded her hands and rested them against the Shinigami’s white tea table.  All the trappings of an old-fashioned high tea, including crustless sandwiches, scones and clotted cream, were laid out in grand fashion.  The porcelain tea cups, bearing a delicate version of death’s logo, caught Marie’s eye.  _He wouldn’t be going to this much trouble if he was going to expel me_ , she thought hopefully.

“I’ve…” Marie faltered before allowing a modicum of her nervousness to dissipate.  “I’ve never actually been here by myself before, Lord Death.”

“Come to think of it, you’re right about that,” the looming figure responded.  To Marie’s relief, he chucked.  “You must think I called you here to admonish you.  Nothing could be farther from the truth.  I just like to talk to my students sometimes, offer encouragement and advice, especially after a big fight.  Don’t be shy, girl.  Tuck in before the scones get cold!  Certainly, there should be something here you like.”

Relief sprawled across Marie’s delicate features, and she shakily released a breath she had not known she’d been holding.  The young blond smiled warmly at Lord Death before her eyes fluttered to the spread.  The freshly-baked blueberry scones on the three tiered tea tray called to Marie.  She eagerly filled her plate, admiring the novelty of the situation.  High tea with a Shinigami.  You know, normal teenage girl stuff.

“I’m sorry about what happened, Lord Death,” Marie said somberly.  She poured herself a cup of tea and added a sugar lump.  Marie couldn’t bring herself to meet her superior’s gaze.  She cast her eyes downward, watching a sugar cube dissolve amidst the amber liquid.  In weapon form, Marie was tough as nails.  As flesh and blood, she preferred to wear her heart on her sleeve.  “I didn’t see the puddle, but I knew something wasn’t right.  I should have talked Reid out of it.  That move wasn’t ready for battle.”

“It wasn’t the move, Marie,” the death God stated plainly.  “Tell me, do you enjoy working with Mr. Wheap?”

Marie paused and absentmindedly brushed a blueberry crumb from the corner of her mouth as she pondered her response.  Weapons never made the decisions alone.  Well, there were always exceptions, like Spirit Albarn.  But generally speaking, weapons were tools, and these days, meisters had the final say.

“He asked me to be his weapon, sir.  I spent three years at the DWMA looking for a meister that didn’t mind my form.  It would have been a lot easier if I’d been a scythe or a sword, and I’ve always been heavy,” Marie winced as she said that last part aloud.  By now, the compliant was a familiar refrain, so familiar Marie considered it a fact.

“I suspected as much,” Lord Death sighed. “It’s a disturbing trait nowadays.  Meisters believing their weapons are subservient things, rather than partners.  In my mind your form is no less formidable than a sword or scythe.  No heavier either.  Nonsense, but not… disappointing.”

Confusion played across Maire’s face as she looked upon her Shinigami.  Lord Death was a great many things, but he was a meister, first and foremost, in a class all his own.  And if he thought that weapons were more than conduits for a meister’s talents, then maybe Marie was more than Reid’s heavy hammer.  In fact, maybe she wasn’t heavy at all.

“I’ll try to be more assertive next time, sir.  Maybe if you talk to Reid, he’ll come around.  Nurse Cherry thinks he’ll recover…”

“You misunderstand, Marie,” the death God interrupted, setting his teacup aside.  “If it was a good match, I’d give the Circe assignment to someone else.  But even if Reid’s taken you this far, I can’t let him pull another stunt like that.  It’s remedial classes for him.  Back to square one with another weapon, if one will have him.”

“But what to do with you,” Lord Death hummed, seemingly surveying the petite blonde from head to toe.  Marie never knew what was going on behind that mask.  “So much potential, but I don’t think you’ve ever resonated with well with any partner.  I’m not sure there’s a better weapon at my disposal against Circe either.  Yet, your left eye restricts your self-wielding abilities.  You’ll need a partner, a seasoned meister.”

Marie blushed self-consciously and covered her left eye with her fingertips.  Few people at the DWMA knew about her recent vision troubles.  Contacts, medication and even corrective surgery were contemplated by Nurse Cherry, but ultimately every option was scrapped.  The bubbly woman told Marie in somber tones that the process was natural and irreversible.  She suggested an eye patch which Marie refused pointblank, even as she mistook the occasional coat rack for a person.  Marie clung to every vestige of normalcy she could grasp.

“I’m asking you to consider Spirit Albarn’s first meister as your partner for the duration of your mission.  Circe’s licking her wounds right now, but she’ll be on the move soon.  You have a week.  Now, do help yourself to the sandwiches.”

Marie tried to protest.  She begged Lord Death to reconsider, but the conversation wound its way to other topics.  How was her family?  Did she feel any different since her vision began to fade?  What were her plans after she became a death scythe?  By the time Marie bid her headmaster a fond farewell with a full belly and renewed spirit, Marie began to see his point.  After all, the grim reaper always had the final word.


	3. Glad Tidings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome (and hopefully) welcome back!
> 
> I wrote this chapter with the intention of it being shorter, but stuff happens. I like writing Stein so much that I just couldn't cut any of it. And I hope you guys like/can tolerate/are not offended by my original characters. The faculty in Soul Eater just seems so young to me, and I wanted to write some older original characters to create a changing-of-the-guard dynamic. 
> 
> As always, I heart feedback. Bookmarks, subscriptions, kudos, comments (especially comments) and suggestions for future chapters are GREATLY appreciated. I mean smile in the never ending line at the post office kind of appreciated.
> 
> Happy Reading!
> 
> -A
> 
> P.S. Let me know if there are any typos, glaring grammatical errors. I'm itching to post this and hate proofreading.

Franken Stein’s world was small when he was working.  In his mind, the drab confines of his Patchwork Lab dissolved into nothingness against the monotone hum of his computer, the click clack of his keyboard and the disorderly cavalcade of his thoughts.  But reality always reared its mundane head.  Stein often reminded himself that he was _supposed_ to sleep, _supposed_ to eat and _supposed_ to give a damn about exams, if not class.  And if he _supposed_ enough, maybe his God would transform him into something resembling a human.

Then again maybe not.

There was a knock at the door.  Several, in fact.  “Franken Stein!” cooed a feminine, distinctly British voice from the other side of the thick, iron entryway.  “Open up dear.  I’m not going to stand here all day, and I’d rather not break a nail forcing my way in.”  And she would break a nail, among other things, if denied entry much longer, Franken mused.  Truth be told, he’d like to see that. 

Nevertheless, the lanky student hoisted his slumped figure from the desk, forcibly tearing his eyes from the illuminated computer screen.  Though there were no prying eyes for miles, the meister saved his work and locked his computer out of habit.  Once secured, a labeled diagram of a large bolt twirled ceaselessly on his screen saver.  Stein rubbed his eyes and adjusted his spectacles as he prepared himself to play nice.  He glanced at the time. 

He had missed his meeting with Lord Death.  That explained _her_ presence.

“Really now,” called the voice with audible irritation.  “I know you’re in there, and I’m not in the mood for childish games.”

Franken crossed the small expanse of his Spartan living area in six wide strides.  He didn’t need to use soul perception to know who was there, but, as always, his curiosity prevailed.  As Stein languidly opened the door, he looked past the woman darkening his doorway to spy on her soul.  Unsurprisingly, it was blue, like his own, but larger and brighter.  What’s more, Stein sensed that the aggravation in her voice was a pretense.  Whatever news she brought with her would more than make up for the interruption in her daily routine.

“Hello Professor Merryweather,” Franken said with cold detachment.

“You kept me waiting,” observed the aging woman.  Her eyes were narrowed with lips pursed and set askew within her round face.  The plump lady stood tall, despite her diminutive stature of only 5’1.  Her hands rested with poise in front of her, balanced on the handle of an umbrella.  Professor’s Merryweather lime green suit, complete with fascinator, was easily the most vibrant thing within a mile of Stein’s Patchwork Lab.  “Well, boy, won’t you invite me inside?”

Stein could only shrug in response as he stepped aside to make way for the woman, his favorite professor.  Indeed, Professor Merryweather was the only teacher who seemed to find his presence at the DWMA anything other than a necessary evil.  And ever since his run in with Lord Death’s rules (specifically the ones regarding the necessity of permission for exploratory surgery), most of the faculty simply avoided him.

“Honestly,” the professor sighed as she brushed aside some refuse strewn across the patched couch, the only seat in the room aside from Stein’s computer chair, “after all the trouble I went to securing this place for you, a place for you to conduct your dissections with little to no risk of accidentally mistaking unconsciousness for consent, I would think you’d keep it in a better state.  Maybe not pick it apart and put it back together like you did with Spirit.”

“I didn’t mistake unconsciousness for consent,” Stein replied.  He leaned against the wall opposite his teacher, folding his pale arm across his chest.  The motion revealed a fresh stitch on his forearm, still oozing blood.  “I didn’t care.”

Professor Merryweather plopped down on the used cushion, bristling slightly in discomfort.  She adjusted her fascinator and gave Stein a pained look, as if he’d given her a headache.  “I know, but as far as Lord Death is concerned, you were confused by the rules and, thus, are repentant.”  Before Stein could fully open his mouth to respond she added, “And I don’t want to hear anymore on the matter.”

“What errand does Lord Death have for me this time?” Stein asked.  He uncrossed his arms and wrapped around an arm his slender frame, reaching for his back pocket.   Franken grimaced unpleasantly when he found it disappointingly empty.  Whatever task had been assigned to him, it would be worth it to pick up a carton of cigarettes on his way back.

Professor Merryweather’s prim expression twisted into an unbalanced smirk.  “Less an errand this time.  This is more of an opportunity.  Tell me, Franken, what do you know about Marie Mjolnir?”

Blond was the first word that came to Stein’s mind, and knowing himself as he did, the weapon-less meister was impressed he even recalled that much about someone so ordinary, so disgustingly compliant and accommodating.  Of course, Stein knew of her, knew that she inherited her hammer weapon form from her father’s esteemed heritage.  He also knew that she struggled to find a meister before settling for one of the nameless no accounts whose existence Franken refused to dignify with the smallest shred of available brain space.

“She’s the demon hammer Mjolnir,” Stein answered with a devilish smile.  “What about her?  Has she started consuming human souls or something?”

To Franken’s delight, Professor Merryweather’s returned her pupil’s eager grin with a softer edge.  Now _that_ would be something to hold his interest, and it would explain the lady’s enthusiasm for this visit.  Sadly, Professor Merryweather’s face fell with a shake of her head as she suddenly became aware of her own eagerness.

“No boy,” she chastised.  “You’d do well to think better of your classmates.  I haven’t had to reap a former pupil in many, many years...”

Stein’s sneer twitched as he watched Professor Merryweather’s far off expression.   Ninety-nine times out of one hundred, slaughtering a former student was a regrettable experience, but the aged lady in front of him was unmistakably pining for the good ‘ol days of gore and guts, however covertly.  This was why Stein liked Professor Merryweather.  She could pretend, for the sake of the school, for the sake of the parents to be a normal member of the herd, but deep down, Stein knew that she was like him:  unrepentantly mad with frightening talent.  As one of the few three-star meisters still working, the woman could kill him wielding only her funny hat if she so chose.

“Ms. Mjolnir has consumed ninety-nine kishin eggs, and Lord Death gave her the Circe assignment,” she said decidedly. “The witch Circe, to be precise.”

 _Witch_.  The word hung in the air for a moment, maybe more, as Stein’s imagination overtook all rational thought.  Witches were ambitious creatures born of insatiable curiosity and sublime insanity, not unlike Stein himself.  The thought of facing a witch thrilled the one-star meister where it would intimidate or frighten the average DWMA student.  Franken struggled to keep one foot in reality as he imagined slicing into such a fascinating subject.

“Good for Marie and her meister.  What’s this got to do with me?”

“Marie doesn’t have a meister anymore.  Mr. Wheap got careless on their first attempt and landed himself in the hospital.  But Marie’s come too far to be held back, and Lord Death needs a new death scythe.  Cain is ill.”

“You mean Cain is old,” Stein shamelessly added.  Professor Merryweather sighed.

“At my time of life, I’m reticent to call anyone old, but suffice it to say Lord Death will need a right hand weapon within the next year.  Duties will have to be shuffled accordingly, and there simply aren’t enough death scythes.  Granted there are several good candidates for promotion.  Hoshi, Yumi, Galland, Bertrand and, the favorite, Albarn.  But Ms. Mjolnir would be ideal for the immediate future.”

“Why?” Stein asked with genuine, albeit perverse curiosity.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” the older woman added as she surveyed her pupil with narrowed eyes.  “Suffice it to say Marie Mjolnir would be good for our image.  Easy on the eyes and from a distinguished line of demon weapons.  Plus, her newfound lightning capabilities make her the perfect weapon against Circe.”

“Lightning,” the young meister repeated.  Franken stood up straight with piqued curiosity.  The electrical impulses within his own body stirred.

“Lightning,” Professor Merryweather confirmed.  A knowing smile plastered itself across the woman’s fair features.  “So guess who Lord Death suggested Ms. Mjolnir pair herself with?”

Stein could have laughed, cackled even, at the very idea of being a good match for anyone.  A good meister for classroom exercises?  Certainly.  A flexible wielder for one-off missions?  Absolutely.  But in the year and a half since he’d been unceremoniously separated from Spirit, no weapon had been allowed to partner with Franken without a watchful faculty eye at the ready.

Of course, the root of Stein’s transgression was a closely guarded secret, and Spirit was paid well for his silence.  His relationship with Kami bent the rules seven ways to Sunday, but not one authority figure dignified the issue so long as Spirit insisted his abundance of stitches were, in fact, just battle scars.  However, the student body had caught on quickly, and before long, every potential weapon partner regarded Stein with same disdain that he bestowed upon most of his peers.  Simply put, no one was interested, even if the reason remained unclear.

“Me,” Stein said with dark mirth.  “Does she know what I’ve done?”

“Thankfully, no,” Professor Merryweather replied.  “And even if Ms. Mjolnir was to partner with you, it would only be a week.  Not a day more.  Apparently, Lord Death wants her to work on being assertive, and if she can handle you, she can handle any meister.  But that’s not an invitation to test the limits, mind you.”

Stein shrugged noncommittally in response. “And if she completes the mission, she becomes a death weapon, graduates early and gets promoted to some lofty position.  What’s in it for me?”

“You don’t fool me boy,” the old woman chuckled.  Yet, she looked upon her student with a fair amount of pride for his restraint.  “You’d do this just to fight the witch.  But, because you asked, it has become inconvenient, shall we say, to keep you on the EAT track without a partner as you are.  As a reward, you would be promoted to a two-star meister and allowed to study independently to perfect some of your more unconventional solo techniques, perhaps take some medical courses too.”

“So Lord Death separates me from all his other precious students while still keeping an eye on me until he figures out another way to use me?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but yes.”  Professor Merryweather nodded.  “And it’s a good deal, boy.  A rare opportunity to get you back on track.”

Stein didn’t have to think about his response, but he paused all the same for effect.  “Fair enough.  When can I expect Marie?”

“There’s an element of partnership to this for you too, Franken,” the professor opined.  Stein sensed the caution in her voice as well as her wavelength.  “It’s Ms. Mjolnir assignment.  She will decide if she wants to work with you.  And my advice, given the state of this place, would be to clean yourself up, meet her somewhere else, somewhere public.  Make her feel…”

“Safe,” Stein provided.

“…in _control_ ,” Professor Merryweather emphasized.  “You control yourself; she controls the mission.  Do you think you could go a week without slicing into another partner and prove to Lord Death that you can curb your urges?”

“I’ll try.” 

Stein was a realist.  He wouldn’t make any promises.


	4. The Best Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Welcome and (fingers-crossed) welcome back!
> 
> You know those weeks where you're a writing machine? The times you just breathe, eat and sleep the story you're writing, constantly thinking of better and better ideas? Yeah, this was not one of those weeks for me. All I wanted to do was get cozy with my pillow and binge watch Toyko Ghoul. Which I'm totally doing tonight.
> 
> But... I really wanted to get another installment of this fic out and despite my lethargy/writer's block, I've enjoyed writing Worthy more with each chapter. I truly hope you guys are getting something out of it too.
> 
> That being said... Kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions and especially comments give me literal life! If you enjoyed yourself, please share your thoughts with me. If you've got constructive comments, I'm all ears (or eyes as it were).
> 
> Happy Reading!
> 
> -A

“You’re partnering up with _him_! With _Stein_!”  From the crown of her head to the blunt tips of her signature red boots, Azusa Yumi was troubled.  She paced across the cozy apartment that she and Marie shared with a ferocity befitting one of her many nicknames, "Queen of the Committee Chairman."  Lately, Spirit had taken to calling her Committee for short, and Marie couldn’t help but agree that the nickname had a ring of truth to it.

“Everyone keeps saying that like it’s a bad thing,” Marie responded.  With practiced skill, she wound one of her blond locks around her curling iron and released it with a feminine flourish.  Even as the hot hair singed the delicate skin on her neck, Marie smiled, admiring the flaxen curl in the bathroom mirror.

“Don’t you think there’s a reason Spirit dropped him as a partner?”  Azusa’s stern expression loomed over Marie’s shoulder in the small mirror’s reflection.  One of the rifle weapon’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows arched behind her sleek spectacles.

“Oh there’s a reason,” Marie said jokingly.  “I bet Kami looks a lot better in a skirt than Stein.”

“You’re not taking this seriously, Mjolnir!” Azusa huffed.  “I’m telling you there’s something off about him.  You know, I’ve caught him dissecting animals, Marie.  The fluffy little creatures you love.  And last year, he propositioned some of the NOT students to take part in some weird examination.  Weird, even by DWMA standards!  They ran screaming from his apartment.  And then he moved to that defunct hospital just outside Death City.  Who does that?”

“So he’s curious, and he doesn’t like city life.”  Marie busied herself trying to find an elusive tube of lip gloss inside her floral makeup bag.  “We’re just meeting to discuss the Circe assignment.  Nothing’s final yet.”

“But it’s not just the Circe assignment, is it?” Azusa stated with sudden seriousness.  She slumped down and came to a seated position on the cold edge of the pink porcelain tub.  “It’s… It’s the witch.  You know what can happen, what almost happened with Reid.  I saw how he was treating you; I should have said something but with all the controversy in meister-weapon relations these days… I didn’t know how to say it without sounding like…”

“…like you were trying to tell me what to do, just like Reid and all the other ‘meisters wield, weapons yield’ bunch?”  Marie spun around to face Azusa.

“Yes,” the straight-laced rifle weapon reticently responded.

Marie slid next to Azusa on the ledge of the bathtub, brushing the frilly white shower curtain aside.  There was no denying that the weapons, however different, had a history, a shared past filled with laughter and regret alike.  While meister and weapon pairs usually roomed together to strengthen their all-important wavelength connection, Marie and Azusa forged their own path, going against the tide.  It was one of the few occasions that Marie had ever defied Reid.  Moments like these reassured her that she was making the right decision, reaffirming her autonomy as both a person and a death weapon.

Azusa’s eyes pleaded with Marie, and the younger woman’s fingers absentmindedly tugged at the fabric of her uniform’s sleeves.  Vulnerability wasn’t usually in the formidable Committee’s repertoire, and Marie found herself increasingly endeared to her friend’s sudden show of concern.  Nevertheless, the blond had made up her mind to give Stein the benefit of the doubt.  If Lord Death thought they were a good match, shouldn’t she look past the trite gossip of her peers?

“We don’t have to worry about Reid anymore,” Marie said as she looped her arm through Azusa’s.  “And Lord Death wouldn’t recommend Franken Stein if he wasn’t a good meister for the job.  It’s only a week.”

“I’m surprised you’re so confident about this,” Azusa said with no small amount of astonishment in her tone.  “And I’m not trying to discourage you because I’ve choked down 72 souls.  I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Marie chuckled.  She teasingly sighed with mock exasperation.  “You’re just trying to keep me from doing something impulsive again.”

“Indeed,” Azusa replied, noticeably back to her prim and proper self.  “Need I remind you about the toilet incident?”

“No.”  Marie playfully shoved her friend, albeit harder than she intended.  “This is totally different.  It’s not like I’m trying to date Stein or anything.”

The young woman’s mirth faltered the moment the words spilled from her lips.  Slaying pre-kishins and living up to her father’s expectations left Marie little time to ponder matters of the heart, but she always found a way to see the best in others, especially those of the opposite sex.  And, if Marie was being honest, her thoughts toward Stein, abstract as they were, pushed all his mercurial idiosyncrasies aside. 

Indeed, there was something about Stein’s distinctive look that Marie found oddly intriguing.  There was something deliberate and almost primal in the silent way he carried himself.  Or maybe it was his cool complexion, the silver color of his hair pitted against his kelly green eyes, that piqued Marie’s overactive imagination.  The hammer weapon jumped ever-so-slightly as Azusa’s laugh broke the spell of Marie’s Stein-centric reverie.

 “Well, thank Lord Death for that!  Then, we’d really have to talk.”  Still chuckling, Azusa exited the bathroom, leaving Marie to finish styling her hair. 

“Yeah,” the blond hammer weapon responded in half-hearted agreement.  Marie approached the mirror and surveyed her appearance as she brushed out her curls to create her usual beachy waves. 

No, she wasn’t, couldn’t (in fact) be interested in someone like Franken Stein.  The arrangement was simple, straightforward even.  He was a competent meister without a partner.  She was a death weapon on the verge of realizing death scythe status.  And no, she wasn’t blushing.  It was just a little warm in the bathroom…

And even if she did feel some vague, fleeting attraction to the admittedly gifted meister, they would only be working together for seven days max.  How much could happen in just one week?

* * *

 Among the coffee shops in Death City, Marie frequented Uncle Bob’s Rumba Coffee.  It was a small, garishly decorated shop with only a handful of tables to its name.  Yet, in spite of the café’s proximity to the DWMA, few students made Uncle Bob’s their go-to destination for their morning pick-me-up.  Unsurprisingly, Marie’s fondness for the location had nothing to do with the strong cups of java Uncle Bob doled out.  It had everything to do with the tall glass of water named Joe Buttataki who also patronized the little-known cafe. 

In fact, Marie didn’t even like coffee; she preferred tea. 

So when Franken Stein suggested meeting somewhere public to discuss their partnership, Marie’s train of thought took a hard left.  “Deathbucks!” she had asserted over the faint static of their deficient telephone connection.  “Two o’clock tomorrow, Sunday afternoon?” Stein had provided.  And it was a date.

Well, it wasn’t a date, not in the slightest.  _It’s a meeting_ , Marie reminded herself as she made her way through the cluttered alleyways of Death City.  She followed her predetermined route with precision, careful not to dawdle or stray from her chosen path.  The new Marie, the forward-thinking and self-assured weapon, had awakened, and she wouldn’t squander this opportunity, this chance exercise dominion over her own destiny.  This time, late in the game as it was, things would be different.

In the interest of full disclosure, the hammer weapon would have to tell Stein about her poor sense of direction.  Better to get most of the disappointing details out the way.  Marie was still on the fence about mentioning her failing eyesight.  It was a sore subject, even if she had taken to wearing the eye patch around the apartment.  What’s more, Marie detested the fact that Nurse Cherry had been right; the eye patch helped.

Relief flooded Marie’s tense limbs as she approached the friendly green door of Deathbucks with five minutes to spare.  The young blond was also pleased to find the quaint café sparsely populated, and she wasted no time in selecting a seat in the corner of the room.  Even if this was just an Informal introductory meeting, the fewer prying eyes or ears the better.

“What’ll you have?” asked a familiar voice.  The death weapon smiled as she looked up and took in all six feet of her classmate.  Iman was a meister, still on the NOT track but quickly climbing the ranks.  With any luck, she and her weapon partner would be in the EAT group come fall, slaying corrupted human souls and downing kishin eggs like candy.  

“Hey Iman,” Marie beamed.  “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Yeah,” the bronze, Amazon-like woman responded.  “Just until I’m pulling in that EAT allowance. Izumi and I are saving up for a nice vacation this summer.  And uh… I heard about Reid and the witch.  Please tell him I hope he gets better soon.”

A chill washed over Marie.  This was the part where a docile, subservient weapon would blame herself or the weather (really anything except her meister) for the mission failure.  Or better yet, Marie would change the subject entirely, adding a positive spin about their next lauded assignment.  But the new and improved hammer weapon straightened up, meeting Iman’s bright amber eyes as she spoke. 

“About that,” Marie announced, clearing her clenched throat.  The young blond had not seen Reid since she’d officially ended their partnership, and saying Reid hadn’t taken the news well was an understatement.  “You might have to tell him yourself.  I, uh, broke up with Reid.  It hadn’t been working for a while, and the witch fight put things in perspective.”

Well, the witch and Lord Death, but Marie wouldn’t bring their headmaster into this.  She couldn’t blame the shinigami for her dilatory nature.  The signs had been there for a year, maybe more.  Belittling comments about her supposed shortcomings.  Backhanded compliments that painted both femininity and weapon-hood as inherent disadvantages.  Undoubtedly, the break-up was Reid’s fault, but the unfortunate timing was Marie’s failing.

“Oh,” Iman stated with a questionable lilt.  A beat of uncomfortable silence cut off all avenues of conversation.  “Well, I have to get back to work.  So, can I get you something?” she reiterated.

“Oolong tea, thanks.”  Marie nodded curtly in appreciation as Iman sauntered back to the bar and slipped the hammer weapon’s meager order to the aging barista.

Marie stilled her breath and folded her hands on the small table in front of her.  She ran through her script of the conversation she planned with Stein, muttering her lines through unmoving lips.  She would speak first.  _Nice to meet you.  I’m Marie, the hammer weapon Lord Death told you about._   Then, she’d formally extend her hand and offer Franken Stein… maybe Mr. Stein… or just Franken… a firm handshake, quickly establishing her lead role in the assignment.

Iman placed a cup of jade green tea in front of Marie who grinned in response and mumbled a word of thanks.  The tense death weapon brought the brim of the chipped porcelain cup to her mouth and allowed the tepid contents to lick her lips.  With eyes closed, she breathed in the bright floral vapors and took a sip of the warm, sunny-sweet liquid.

Marie sighed contentedly as the tea slid down her throat, flooding her senses.  Lost in the experience, she didn’t hear the flutter of a long, black overcoat or the muffled footsteps approaching her from across the vinyl checkerboard floor.  Even Iman, a formidable meister in the making, did a double take when she placed the pallid features of the DWMA’s most reclusive student. 

Marie’s eyes fluttered open, and she was startled by the sudden appearance of an imposing figure.  The young woman fumbled her delicate teacup before placing it nosily in the saucer.  Her first thought was that he was taller than she remembered, but his cockeyed smile beset with stubble held her attention.  He surveyed the demon hammer Mjolnir through glinting glasses.  Amusement, benign or malevolent (it was anyone’s guess), seeped through every fiber of his being.

“Hello Marie,” Franken Stein said.  Marie shuddered at the sound of her name on his tongue as her well-laid plans were reduced to ruin.


	5. Can’t or Don’t

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! First off, a big thanks to Akatra for such wonderful comments. I've said it before and I'll say it again, feedback keeps me going. I appreciate the time it takes to put your thoughts into words.
> 
> So... I'm doing a lot of writing for Royai week (June 11-17, in case anyone wants to participate). I'm not sure if the next bi-weekly installment will be "on time," but I will try. This fic has a special place in my heart since I put my other two chapter fics on hiatus to participate. We'll see what happens.
> 
> As always, kudos, comments, subscriptions and bookmarks are greatly appreciated. I would love to know what you guys want to see more of moving forward.
> 
> Happy Reading!
> 
> -A

Stein didn’t have to wear the black overcoat, but he liked the imposing figure he cut too much to consider anything else.  At every given opportunity, Professor Merryweather mentioned that the garment was filthy, tattered, ostentatious and altogether ill-suited for the dry Nevada heat.  Naturally, she suggested a crisp winter white ensemble if he absolutely had to be a study in contrasts.

But, white coats in lighter fabrics were reserved for doctors in Stein’s opinion.  Clothing like that might mistakenly mark the young meister as a beckon of hope amidst the impending darkness of sickness and decay, and ordinary people didn’t need to be more confused than they already were.  Stein had no intention of helping anyone but himself or his God, not unless they could pique his interest.

And Marie… Well, there was something about her that he just couldn’t reconcile.

She was the mighty demon hammer Mjolnir, a weapon of legend.  The literature said that her form was first forged in a soul so vibrant that it reminded soul perceiving meisters of the brilliant light shed by a dying star.  Marie was marked with the makings of greatness in her own right.  Her belly was full to the brim with kishin eggs, 99 to be exact.  She was on the brink of power, on the edge an abyss that few had braved.

Yet, she was also having what looked like a religious experience with a cup of tea.

Stein suppressed a laugh in an effort to remain aloof but interested, even if atypically so.  Control, he was told, was important during his interactions with Marie.  She was running point on this mission, and their partnership was not certain.  Even with his questionable ethics and eccentric mannerisms, Stein knew it was bad form to laugh at a potential partner.  First impressions were important like that.

“Hello Marie,” he stated simply in what he hoped was a friendly tone.

The young blond in front of him fiddled with her teacup as Stein appreciated her appearance and snuck a peek at her soul.  Marie’s fine features were unmistakably Norse.  A slightly prominent brow was softened by wide amber eyes, thin pink lips and a mop of honey-colored hair.  Her soul was luminous, a steady source of white-yellow light that both beckoned and intimidated.  In sum, Stein thought her lovely but deadly, formidable yet warm, a mess of contradictions that somehow existed in concert. 

She was a woman if ever he’d encountered one.  Stein would try not to hold such innate duality against her.  Feminine wiles were confusing to him, unnecessarily troublesome in the worst way.

“Nice to meet you,” she said somewhat forcibly.  Stein suppressed another chuckle with a set jaw and stuffed his hands into his pockets.  She had such an intriguing effect on him.  “I’m Marie… but you already knew that I guess.  I’m-yeah-I’m the hammer weapon Lord Death told you about.  Did he tell you that I was a hammer?  I can be a tonfa too.  You know, a long stick with a little handle attached a third of the way down.  Oh, I’m rambling, aren’t I?  You’re-You’re Franken Stein, right?”

“I am,” he answered simply before Marie could stumble through another mouthful of words.  Eager to progress the conversation past her weapon form, he spoke again.  “May I sit?”

“Oh, of course you can,” Marie chirped.  “I mean yes, you may.  I know you can…“ She blushed scarlet and took a sip from her teacup to silence her own ramblings as Stein slipped into the chair opposite her.  “So Franken… Stein… Um… which do you prefer?”

“Stein,” he answered.  “Professor Merryweather is the only one here who calls me Franken.  Really, I can’t care either way.”

“Can’t care or just don’t care?” Marie quipped.  There it was again, a fumbling nature punctuated by such an intuitive distinction.

The meister’s pleasant expression nearly morphed into an aggressive grin.  He caught himself mid-sneer.  “Can’t.  There are too many other things to think about.  The Circe assignment, for one.  I understand it’s yours.”

“Yes!” Marie exclaimed, evidently seizing her opportunity.  “I, uh, don’t have a partner, and I’m looking into my options.  They say you used to work with Spirit Albarn.”

“Who’s they?” Stein asked, genuinely curious about what she knew of him.

“The whole school, I guess,” Marie answered.  “There were lots of rumors going around about the two of you, but I don’t care about whatever happened between you guys.”

Stein hesitated before he chanced his next thought.  “Can’t care or just don’t care,” he parroted.  “Most people would be dying to know why the golden scythe boy of the DWMA finally ditched Franken-freakazoid.” 

The question hit Marie like the gauntlet it was.  A crude query, Stein admitted to himself, but necessary if they were to work together.  Witch or no witch, he had no time for a weapon who was more worried about being seen with him rather than completing a task assigned to them by Lord Death.  The shinigami’s rule was the only word Stein found himself capable of living by.  He would complete the death God’s directive, even if his unconventional methods could be considered fiendish.

“Don’t,” Marie stated.  Her gaze met his directly, and she spoke with fierce resolve.  “I could care about it, but I didn’t invite you here to pump you for information.  I need a meister, and you need a weapon.  I’ve got a week left before my shot at death scythe status runs out, and I’m not naïve enough to believe that Lord Death will give me another chance if I fail him again.”

Marie’s fist came down on the table with surprising force.  Where mere seconds ago Stein saw a bubbly school girl, now he saw a demon weapon, willing to rush head first into a witch fight to secure her place amongst Lord Death’s finest.  Her soul swelled, and Stein’s curious wavelength instinctively reached out.  He wanted, almost needed, to forge the connection and vicariously experience Marie’s controlled wave of emotions, but suddenly, her yellow sphere diminished.

“I am not going to let that witch get away.” Marie’s soul hovered just beyond Stein’s reach.  She was unlike other weapons he’d resonated with, even momentarily.  In his estimation, she seemed to lack a basic, almost primal ability to fall in line with a partner, even a meister such as Stein whose wavelength was remarkably flexible.  

“So are you with me, Stein, or do you have something better to do, like skip class and mouth off to other students?”

Stein was astonished, nearly offended by her challenge.  No one spoke to him like that.  They nipped at his ankles, goading him into toting the company line, or they avoided him completely.  But here she was, a young weapon with curls in her blond hair and fire in her belly.  No, she wasn’t part of the ‘they’ who whispered behind his back.  She was something else entirely. 

An enigma?  No.  Stein was confident that he could figure her out.

A challenge?  Absolutely.  There would be no low-level resonance with a weapon like her.  It would be all or nothing.  A strong connection that shook the ground and cracked the sky or a dull, lifeless void.

A partner?

“I’m with you, Marie.”

They held each other's gaze for a minute as the implications of Stein response washed over him.  For the first time in over a year, he had a weapon partner, a girl of all people who looked more at home in a cheerleading uniform than a sparing ring.  But the time for first impressions had passed.  Indeed, for the first time in a long time, he and his partner had work to do.


	6. Where the Sun Meets the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I fell way behind schedule, but the burnout from royai week was REAL. So here's me, hoping to get back on schedule, with another chapter that was hopefully worth the delay. And, if you have feedback, please share it with me. Every kudo, bookmark, subscription and comment is precious! And I'm also *trying* to learn how to tumblr, so please follow me there under the name [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/). I'd love to hear from you guys!

News traveled fast at the DWMA, but gossip spread like a virus.  With each new infection, the facts mutated.  Its DNA contorted until the truth’s genetic blueprint was all but lost to a cancerous fiction.  However, Professor Merryweather didn’t bother to hinder the flow of information.  On the contrary, she enjoyed the tall tales more than she had any right to, imprinting each version upon her memory with perverse pleasure.

All sources agreed that Iman Shuri broke the story, and true to form, the professor had spied the meister commanding the attention of an excited gaggle of girls on Monday morning before class.  With animated hand gestures and a false hushed voice, she told the tale of a clandestine meister/weapon meeting at Deathbucks on Sunday afternoon.  Marie, dear sweet Marie, had lost her marbles and traded in the firm and steady Reid N. Wheap for Franken-freakazoid. 

“There was a deranged look in her eyes when she asked him,” Iman had recounted to her rapt audience.  “She’s desperate to go after a witch again, like Lord Death will kick her off the EAT track if she fails.”

Merryweather gave Iman points for speculation.  It was true; the team’s failure to slay Circe would have consequences for both students, though nothing as severe as the stifling mediocrity of the NOT track.  However, in the English lady’s opinion, Franken’s crude nickname had not been necessary to the story.  It somewhat distracted from the truth of the narrative, and from that point on, the gossip’s skew was inevitable, climbing through the ranks of students until Marie’s presence was missed by her fellow EAT students.

Azusa Yumi did what she could to restrain her loquacious nature.  With lips pressed tightly, she feigned ignorance regarding Marie’s whereabouts in an uncharacteristic show of discretion.  Professor Merryweather watched with great interest as her soul shook uncomfortably in defiance of her actions.  Lying was never easy for a person like Azusa, and Merryweather wasn’t the only person to notice.

“It’s strange for you to be so uncommunicative, Committee,” sounded a steady voice from across the classroom just after she swore complete ignorance of Marie’s situation. 

The bow-rifle weapon’s head spun to face her accuser.  “I don’t know what you mean, Joe.”

“Liar,” he mumbled just before taking a sip from his coffee cup.  The woman’s curiosity swelled as she cut off the exchange by calling her class to order.  However, she jotted down the name Joe Buttataki in the margin of her attendance roster.  He was a meister to watch. 

And as bad luck would have it, Azusa’s efforts went unrewarded.  In less than three hours time, a shifty-eyed Spirit Albarn approached his teacher mid-tizzy.  With hands wringing and furrowed crimson eyebrows, he fell back from his girlfriend and their usual cohorts, sidling up to Professor Merryweather at the chalkboard.  Spirit’s usual charisma melted away next to the blazing intellect of the English lady, festively clad in an orange dress with matching kitten heels, and if the ensemble was reminiscent of a traffic cone, no one dared to speak the thought aloud.

“Can I help you, Mr. Albarn?” she announced while erasing the last bit of chalky script.  As the teacher glanced over her should at her student, he recoiled.

“Can I talk to you in private, professor?”

“No,” she said simply.  “I think I know what this is about. Out with it then, child.”

“Fine,” Spirit said, clearly taken aback by the child comment.  He rolled his eyes and shrugged with phony indifference.  “I heard that Stein kidnapped Marie, and he’s making her fight a witch.  No one’s seen Marie around today, so I thought I’d check in.”

Merryweather chuckled.  “And do you believe that?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Spirit fervently asserted.  He crossed his arms somewhat protectively across his chest.  “You know what happened to me, and I thought maybe you could talk to him and warn Marie about his… proclivities.”

“Well isn’t that a five dollar word, Mr. Albarn,” the professor added, noting the young man’s hesitance.  “Not something you would say, I think.  And correct me if I’m wrong, but Stein isn’t your concern anymore.”

“I guess not; I’m just-“

“Curious,” she provided, “on behalf of your meister, I’d wager.”

“Let me be blunt, Mr. Albarn,” Professor Merryweather said, setting the eraser down a bit harder than intended.   She coughed and swatted at the resulting cloud of chalk dust.  Though Spirit kept a lazy, placid grin smeared across his face, he muttered something under his breath that sounded like, _“Are you ever anything but?”_

Ignoring the stray remark, the lady continued.   “You knew that Stein was, shall we say, eccentric when we paired the two of you.  Lord Death asked you to keep him in check, and in my opinion, you failed Stein when you let him wander so far off the primrose path.  You started thinking with what’s between your legs as opposed to what’s between your ears, Mr. Albarn.  So like one of my exhusbands.”

“Exactly how was I supposed to know what he was doing to me when I was unconscious?” Spirit interrupted in harsh but hushed tones.

“Because it was you.  Really, boy, who wouldn’t notice fresh stitches in new places every morning if not a sycophantic love-struck teen ensnared by his hormones.  Spleens don’t just up and walk away of their own volition.  But I digress,” she replied in equally muted voice, cutting her remarks short before indignance got the better of her.  Franken Stein was Professor Merryweather’s find, a kindred spirit, and her protégé even.  She would defend the silver-haired meister like her own child.  In fact, Stein was Merryweather’s child in every way that mattered (though she preferred to think of herself as a fun aunt to his misunderstood genius).

“Franken Stein and Marie Mjolnir are accounted for,” she said resoundingly, loud enough for Kami and her classmates to hear as they hovered outside the classroom door.  “They are excused from classes because they are training for a special mission assigned by Lord Death, and the subject of the mission isn’t on the syllabus for this class.  Therefore, I fail to see its relevance.  Good day, Mr. Albarn. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.  There seem to be a lot of people hovering near it.”

She could have told them the truth.  There was no rule against it, and the DWMA was that kind of school as some people liked to say.  What’s more, Merryweather knew she should have allayed Spirit’s fears because of the sensitive information he knew, because of what Stein had done to him.  But unlike the rest of the faculty, she didn’t view Spirit as an innocent in the ordeal.  And if that made her a victim-blaming sociopath, it wasn’t the worst thing Professor Merryweather had been called. 

Although, it wouldn’t hurt to drop in on Franken and Ms. Mjolnir.  The sooner, the better.

* * *

Gertrude Merryweather was not a creature who thrived in warm climes, nor did she like sand unless it existed in tandem with a scantily clad cabana boy serving something tall and strong.  But there she was on that fateful Tuesday morning, in the harsh grip of sand and sun without a cocktail in sight.  Not for the first time, she wondered why Lord Death had chosen Nevada (of all places) to host his precious school as she rode a borrowed dune buggy through the barren expanse.  However, the trip, as undignified as it was, remained a necessary evil. 

Franken was a problematic boy by nature.  The fact that he’d chosen a removed part of the Nevada desert as his hallowed practice ground came as no surprise to his long-suffering mentor.  With less half a glance at her trusty compass, she steered the vehicle toward a familiar blue orb situated uncomfortably close to the edge of a gorge.  A yellow sphere flicked alongside the blue circle and brought a small smile to Professor Merryweather’s face.  She would never admit it, not even to herself, but she was worried about Marie’s wellbeing.

Yet, despite a congenial reputation, it became clear that Marie was no pliable wallflower.   Over the distracting hum of the dune buddy’s motor, Merryweather slipped into soul perception like a pair of old driving gloves, flexing her proverbial fingers as she drew nearer to the couple.  Partner was a term reserved for those who were working together to achieve a common goal, and the sight before the professor was anything but compeer.

Stein’s elastic soul hummed as his wavelength stretched toward Marie, curiously seeking communion.  With no small amount of pride, the aged woman marveled at the way her pupil contorted the stitched contents of his soul to match his would-be partner like a missing puzzle piece, but Marie was elusive.  The bright sunshine of her wavelength danced just beyond Stein’s grasp, repelling brilliantly like the sun off the sea.

As her students’ figures came into sharp focus, Gertrude downshifted and jerkily forced the vehicle into park.  She coughed gratuitously while the dust settled and the motor slowed to stillness.  The metal bars of the buggy snagged the cuffed hem of her skinny jeans, and the professor stumbled out, thankful that she had traded in her customary kitten heels for more suitable footwear.  She whipped off her headscarf in grand fashion and shook the dust from the folds before finally turning to address Marie and Franken.

“You just couldn’t rent a sparring ring or practice indoors at a place with restrooms, lockers and maybe a juice bar?” she asked instead of an introduction.

“No,” Stein stated with frustration dripping from his words.  He kicked a nearby rock off the cliff and ran his hand through his silver locks.  His twitchy fingers clearly jonesed for a cigarette. “You look casual today, Professor Merryweather.”  The aged lady knew he wouldn’t apologize for her troubled journey on a good day, let alone in this state.

“Um… Good morning professor,” Marie piped up.  She smoothed her wispy blond pigtails and stood as tall as her petite frame would allow, holding out her hand for a handshake.  “It’s good to see you outside of class.  I don’t know if you rememb-“

“I remember all my pupils,” the professor sternly cut in.  She viewed Marie’s outstretched hand with disdain.  “It’s too bloody hot for pleasantries, and I’m too old to care.  Let’s get on with this, shall we?”

Gertrude didn’t wait for an affirmation.  Instead, she limped with heavy footfalls over to the nearest seat-sized bolder and leaned back against the warm rock for support.  The dry Nevada heat reddened her fair skin, and the professor scooped Marie’s canteen from the ground with no small amount of desperation.  She greedily downed half the contents before tossing the container aside.

“Now this is the part where you two start resonating, or I carry my fat arse back to Death City to inform Lord Death that he needs to give the Circe assignment to another pair.  Enlighten me, what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know what more I can do,” Stein said all too quickly with as much frustration as Professor Merryweather had ever heard.  “She runs away from me. I’m try-”

“Dear boy,” the older woman said with arms crossed across her ample chest, “running away from you isn’t the most unreasonable thing a person could do.  What I find intriguing is that you can’t catch Ms. Mjolnir.  In fact, I believe I was talking to her.

“Me?” Marie asked with timid disbelief.

“No,” Gertrude answered sarcastically.  “The cabana boy standing behind you with the pina colada and the loaded banana hammock. Of course you, Ms. Mjolnir!  Now, why do you feel you’re not connecting with Franken?  Are you afraid of him?”

“No.”

“Do you want to work with him?”

“Yes.”

“Then, dammit girl, stop running from him and wiggling your wavelength about.  You can’t be afraid of success at a crucial time like this, with a partner like him.  Commit!  Do you think that you can do that?”  Merryweather gave Marie a piercing look.  She nodded, wordlessly.

“And you,” the aged lady turned to Stein with the same intensity, “stop chasing her like some lesser life form to put under your microscope.  Let her come to you.  Understand?”  Stein shrugged noncommittally.

“I haven’t got all day.  Let’s see this resonance and either way we’re leaving this Death-forsaken desert.”

The pair of teens said nothing but turned to face the other.  However different, their gazes held the same emotions.  Frustration, fury and desperation shot between the two until Marie extended her hand toward Stein like an olive branch.  Carefully, he accepted her offering and laced his fingers between hers. 

Gertrude’s first instinct was to call them out on such a ridiculous gesture, but a little voice inside her head counseled silence.  It had been such a long time since she’d last felt her humanity stir, and in light of its unlikely return, she merely watched as Marie’s eyes fluttered shut in concentration.  For his part, Stein’s stared at Marie, watching intently as her the hum of her soul swelled.  When he finally closed his own Kelly-green orbs, the connection sparked to life.

What happened next was inevitable, the woman suspected.  It was natural, but rare like an exotic creature hiding away in the back alleys of the wilderness.  And though Stein was gifted and Marie was no slouch in the classroom, Gertrude knew they wouldn’t grasp the significance of the way their souls perfected mirrored the other.  One bright, content and bubbly.  The other dark, restless and brooding.  Two sides of the same coin. 

The transcendental twin flame.

It wasn’t the sort of theory that was taught anymore, she mused as the sand beneath their feet began to shiver and rise, moved by some unseen force.  A closed circuit of electricity filled the air emanating from the place where Stein’s tempest soul met Marie’s soothing embrace.  It wasn’t the sort of thing that she had ever really believed in, except now she’d seen it with her own eyes.  And for a moment in time, longer than Merryweather would ever admit to, she felt a bittersweet lump stick in her throat.

Franken had outgrown her in the way that all boys left their mothers and all protégés eschewed the guiding principles of their mentors.  He had found that which would soothe his soul if only he’d let her.  Nevertheless, if the literature were to be believed, it wouldn’t be easy.  It would be intense, passionate and painful like all great partnerships, like all genuine love stories.  It was a path rarely trodden, one that she herself had not traveled.

For the first time, Gertrude Merryweather felt as unnecessary as she was old.


	7. Rush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is for "pleaseeeee" who commenting on chapter 1 (via FFN) this week asking for an update. WOW, I was so happy to hear it! Rest assured, your wait was for a good cause. I spent the last few weeks finishing up all my shorter WIPs so that I could focus on my two longfics. And I was so bummed I couldn't respond to that reminder! It would have been the perfect tumblr ask! I had a sneak peek of this chapter written that was practically begging to be leaked! 
> 
> Which reminds me... If you enjoyed this, you know the drill. Kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions and comments are appreciated. Also, check out my tumblr, [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/). Send me an ask, a prompt or even an anon nasty message if that floats your boat. I love hearing from readers!

_Earlier that morning._

Marie was furious, livid, incensed and just generally pissed off at Stein that fated Tuesday morning.  Monday had been tedious; she expected as much.  Wavelengths were a tricky thing for Marie but by the time sunset painted the Nevada sky in twilight shades of red, blue and orange her patience had worn _thin_.  As thin as Azusa’s penciled in eyebrows.  As thin as the idiotic hipster tie Spirit wore on special occasions.  As thin as the cigarette that and hung limply from Stein’s cracked lips.

“I asked you not to smoke,” Marie spat.  They’d been at it for hours, and still, the silver-haired meister declared her efforts “subpar.”  Marie’s eyes fixed on the smelly white stick, and she directed her frustration toward the inanimate object without rhyme or reason.  Stein brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled.  The smoldering end flared red in response, and Marie’s temper swelled.

“If you’re going to make me practice in this heat, the least you could do is put it out!”

“I asked you to try to resonate with me,” Stein replied in his trademarked monotone drawl.  A hint of frustration clung to the edge of his words.  “Why should I do what you ask when you won’t return the favor?  Smoking helps me relax.”

The meister flicked the damp tip of his cigarette, and a clump of ash floated to the ground, blending hopelessly with the shifting sands.  Marie’s left eyebrow twitched; her fist clenched.  Of all the things that annoyed her, she never expected that littering would be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Smoking is bad for you,” she declared.  The blonde snatched the cigarette from his mouth and hurled it toward the sandy space between her feet.  Without a single thought devoted to the fact that she was also littering, Marie ground the heel of her strappy black sandal against the butt.  She placed her hands on her hips with what she hoped was an air of superiority.  

“You want to ruin your lungs, knock yourself out.  However, I need a meister through the end of the week, and I don’t enjoy smelling like a sweaty ashtray.  You want to practice, let’s practice!”

“Practice is pointless unless you want to start trying.  I don’t do pointless things,” Stein drawled with slow speech and wide vowels.  “And, for the record, I really don’t see how you’ve made it so far at the DWMA without being able to maintain a strong resonance.  How will you function as a death scythe if you can’t connect with a partner assigned by Lord Death?  That’s expected, you know.”

Marie’s face flushed.  She straightened up and tucked a few strands of wispy blond hair behind her ears to buy herself a few seconds.   Stein wasn’t wrong, but she had no intention of letting him know that fact.  The inner workings of the hammer weapon’s mind were sacred, private and, more often than not, in a state of flux.

“For your information, after I become a death scythe I’m going get married, retire and have babies.   _In that order_.  I’ll pass on this weapon form to the next generation of Mjolnirs and live a peaceful life.”

Franken laughed.  His voice was hoarse and dry.  For the first time, he sounded like the maniacal madman everyone made him out to be.  Or maybe he was just amused; it was hard to tell.  After only a day of working with Stein, Marie could almost visualize the places where his emotions were stitched together like lost puzzles pieces crudely cropped to fit.  Passion fit against indifference where it ought not have.  Joy abutted fear.

She told herself she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by him. 

“That makes no sense,” Stein said after a full minute of hysterics.  “I didn’t know you were funny, Marie.”

“I’m not funny,” she stated defensively.  The blonde shuffled her feet poking at the remains of the cigarette.  “Do you have something against a life devoted tofamily?  It’s not all daytime soap operas and pedicures.  It’s good, honest work.”

“I didn’t say it was easy.  In fact, I expect it would be difficult in certain areas, just like any career.”  Stein removed his glasses, cleaning the lens between the cotton fabric of his sleeveless white shirt.  The blonde’s eyes were drawn to the surprising muscle definition that adorned his slender frame… and the scars.  So many, many stitches.  

“I don’t think that’s what you really want, Marie.  I think you want to be a death scythe.”

The blonde readied her best mocking tone.  “Oh really.  Did your soul perception tell you that?”

“No,” he answered, ever the straight man.  “Common sense did.  You don’t need to become a death scythe to get married and have babies.  If you didn’t want to slay Circe, I don’t think you’d be here right now. I don’t understand you, Marie.  I don’t have to, but you could at least be honest with yourself.”

Marie swallowed a lump in her throat.  She wanted to be a death scythe more than she was willing to admit.  She wanted to slay Circe and not just for the sake of dear daddy Mjolnir's pride.  She wanted to show him (show all of them) that bright and bubbly Marie was a force to be reckoned with.  A person with her own ambitions.  A formidable weapon who didn’t need to ride on the coattails of the Mjolnir family legacy.

A peculiar notion racked her brain, clawing its way out of the demon weapon’s subconscious.  Was she so afraid of failure that it made her shrink away from success?  Marie pushed the thought aside.

“Alright,” Marie grudgingly admitted.  Her voice was small, but it swelled as she spoke.  “I want to be a death scythe, even if it means working with meisters who smoke like a chimney.  Now can we please get back to working on this resonance?”

“If you’re done with your existential crisis I suppose we can, Marie,” Stein mused aloud.  The young meister glanced toward the bluff's edge as if asking for the intercession of a higher power.  “At this point, we need all the help we can get.”

Little did they know the cavalry was already on the way.

* * *

  _Twenty minutes later._

Their resonance link was like nothing Marie had experienced before.  Her breath caught; her body shivered.  The weapon’s pulse surged and reverberated in her eardrums.  Marie’s fingers clenched Stein’s hand with renewed purpose as she held fast to him like a grounding rod in a storm of electric rapture, and to her amazement, their connection suddenly clicked.  At that moment, Marie’s frame of mind shifted. Where she had felt an overwhelming rush of adrenaline, she now perceived a still serenity, a calm during the storm.  

Though the sun beat down upon her shoulders, Marie no longer felt the sting of yesterday’s sunburn.  Nor did the sickening trepidation caused by Professor Merryweather’s ultimatum bother her in the slightest.  The world was a small sphere beginning at the point where their fingers met, ending at the tips of their toes and the ends of their hair.  Though Marie’s eyes remained closed, she could feel Stein as if he were an extension of her own being.

The telltale crackle of electricity whizzed past her, carried through the air by some mysterious force.  And though common sense obliged the demon hammer to question the reason behind her weightless mind and light limbs, she refused.  Marie’s thoughts had never been more attuned to the world around her or the person standing beside her. 

Resonance with Stein felt right.  Marie was steady to hisstrong.  He was courage to her caution.  To each question, the perfect answer.  For every need, a provision of plenty.  And with eachinhale andexhale, Marie felt herself spiral deeper into sync with the silver-haired meister.  Their connection was a circle without beginning or end, the perfect embodiment of an ouroboros or something else reminiscent of wholeness.

“Amazing,” Marie said or gasped or thought.  She couldn’t be sure if her lips still had the power to form words or ifspoken language was suddenly beneath her.  Though she could swear she heard a reply whispered on the wind:  “You are.”

The young weapon could have stood there forever, overwhelmed by the power within their link with no thought toward the discomforts of the barren desert.  In fact, it was Stein who severed the connection.  He retrieved his hand from Marie and shook it vigorously before staring at his palm with a contemplative expression.  For the first time since their partnership began, Stein offered neither critique nor criticism.  Marie grinned, oblivious to the fuzzier look of the world.

“We did it!” she shrieked.  “Professor Merryweather, did you see that?  It felt _incredible_.  I had no idea a resonance could be that intense.”

The professor’s head tilted subtly to the side as she watched the meister-weapon pair with a dazed expression.  Her lips parted and repeatedly closed.  The lady's words died on the tip of her tongue in an uncharacteristic show of speechlessness.  Puzzled, Marie turned to exchange a worried glance with Stein and found him similarly perplexed. 

“Did I miss something?” she asked, shuffling her feet against the desert sands to break the silence.

When Professor Merryweather finally responded, her voice carried a bitter edge.  “No, you are right.  Your resonance was much stronger this time.  Much… better than expected.”  Her positive words clashed haplessly against the tone of her speech.  

Marie ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach.  “So you’ll give Lord Death a good report, and allow us to continue?”

Gertrude thrust her hand into the stretched pocket of her skinny jeans and retrieved a handkerchief.  Avoiding the eyes of her students, she dabbed at the sweat collecting on her brow and cleared her throat.  “That was the deal,” she observed.

The English lady stood up tall and straightened her clothing, and after a thorough dusting of her shirt's folds, she seemed more herself.  “But I must insist you practice at the DWMA from here on out.  This hellhole might be an ideal spot for you to practice, Franken, but clearly, as a pair, you require guidance.  And this guidance,” she motioned expectantly toward herself, “functions best in the cool embrace of civilization.  At least, what passes for civilization in these parts.”

“We’d be grateful for your help,” Marie responded.  “That is if you’re ok with it Stein.”

The blonde turned to look at her partner only to find his head still in the clouds.  Though no longer staring transfixed at his own palm, the meister remained dazed.  Marie waved her hand in front of Stein’s face to little effect.

“Hello,” she said, animatedly redoubling her efforts, “are you in there?  Earth to Stein.”

“Stop that!”  Stein caught Marie’s wrist mid-movement and paused.  His finger slipped past her pulse point, and Stein held her hand again, for a second longer than necessary before dropping it as if being bitten by fire ants.  Still, his eyes traced the outlines of her fingers.  Though she’d never admitted it, the blush that crept in Marie’s cheeks had nothing to do with the stifling heat.

"I’ll see you both back at school this afternoon.  I’ll reserve sparring ring B for your practices” Professor Merryweather cut in.  She turned briskly to leave and wasted no time sliding into her borrowed dune buggy.  “I’d offer you a ride, Marie,” she remarked, offhandedly gesturing toward her purse in the passenger seat, “But I’m full.”

Before Marie could question her teacher’s comment or offer to hold her purse, Gertrude hastily departed, leaving a trail of disturbed sand in her wake.  The hum of the buggy’s motor faded into the distance, and all too soon, Marie found herself alone with Stein.  Whereas before the mood had been tense and volatile, an uncertain tranquility settled neatly between the pair.  

“We should head back,” Marie stated, breaking the brittle stillness.

Stein turned to her abruptly.  “Change into weapon form,” he said with sudden impatience.  “I want to connect again… for practice.” 

The blonde furrowed her eyebrows and started to ask him about the odd direction, but Stein beat her to the punch line.

“I felt how tired you were over our resonance,” he explained.  “Not used to this heat, I guess.  Plus, I can get us back quicker this way if I jog, and we can work on communication.  It makes sense.”

“You could feel that?” she inquired in a small voice.

“Yes.  I could sense lots of things.”

Marie nodded and extended her hand toward Stein.  Just as before, though perhaps with a greater sense of urgency, the silver-haired meister weaved their fingers together.  Their wavelengths matched and modulated as Marie visualized her weapon form materializing into her partner’s outstretched hand.  Where Reid had insisted on her traditional hammer appearance, Marie’s instincts told her Stein would prefer to wield her as a tonfa.  Marie’s soul swelled when she saw Stein regard her elongated features and smile.  Clutching her securely and throwing the strap of her small gym bag over his shoulder, the hammer meister took off at a sprint.    

“I can walk if you get tired,” she said over their resonance link.  “I know I’m heavy.”

Upon hearing her declaration, Stein agilely picked up the pace.  He allowed a smug smile to play across his generally impassive lips. 

“You’re not heavy, Marie.”

And though she didn’t know how or why Marie was certain he was telling the truth.


	8. To Take Exception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. Thank you. Thank you to everyone who liked, commented on and reblogged my last chapter. I mean it. You guys are phenomenal. You give me a reason to write when I'm tired, and every ounce of feedback I receive is like a gift! I almost didn't get this chapter out in time because I wrote [something for Team Mustang Week 2018](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15693729/chapters/36468984) in Fullmetal Alchemist land, but then I thought of you all and just got it done.
> 
> So without further ado...

To Stein, the desert was a little slice of solace in an otherwise maddening world.  He liked the dry heat and relished the way the hot air curled around his limbs.  His patchwork flesh burned and sizzled under the oppressive rays of the sun, masking the areas where his circulation was less than par.  The sensation prevented him from getting lost in his own mind; it kept him uncomfortable enough to remain anchored in his body.

By contrast, the DWMA’s gym was stuffed to the brim with creature comforts.  There were three locker rooms complete with tidy private showers, fresh towels and a newly installed sauna.  Everything was primped and polished, all kept in immaculate condition and branded with Lord Death’s logo for good measure.  A row of tall windows bordered the high ceiling and welcomed the natural light into the enclosed, white-washed space.

Still, Stein preferred the harsh elements of the Nevada landscape to such soft, manmade perfection.  He missed the long and sharp shadows of sunrise and sunset.  Sweat and sun suited him better than air-conditioned convenience ever would.  But then there was Marie…

He carried her back to the DWMA and didn’t stop until he’d cleared the last long flight of stairs.  Her voice filled his head almost the whole way back, prattling on about a thousand little nothings that seemed to add up to something.  As weapon-meister conversations went, Stein had nothing to compare it to except Spirit, and he’d never given a damn about the utterly inane things his former scythe weapon had to say.  Stein had never understood how Kami put up with his incessant talking, formidable weapon though he was.

Only, maybe he did now.

At half past noon, Marie emerged from the showers with warm pink skin and damp hair.  Like before, she secured her blonde locks in a set of messy pigtails that made her look younger than her 18 years.  Stein swallowed thickly as he concluded the DWMA’s gym uniform had the opposite effect.  For the umpteenth time since they’d strongly resonated, the hammer meister cleaned his glasses.  He refused to think about how badly he wanted to connect with her again.

Even caught in the moment, he wouldn’t admit that the only thing more fascinating than the intersection of their souls was the gym shorts Marie was wearing.  Black, tight and cut higher on her hip than was strictly appropriate.  Whatever they were – Stein supposed they were shorts in the most academic sense – the scant fabric wrapped around her fair skin made him feel like the 16-year-old he was underneath his unstable intellect.  He longed to run his fingers over the stretchy material that clung to her hip and dip into the waistband if only to determine if she would slap him or sigh. 

Knowing Marie, he suspected she might do both.

“Ahem!”

Professor Merryweather stirred from her perch within sparring ring B.  Set in the farthest corner of the DWMA’s gym, it was the most private place to practice, an area no one had reason to come toward unless it was their intended destination.  Still, Stein attempted to quiet his scandalous thoughts and shoved his glasses back on his face with unsteady digits.  Despite their relative privacy, sparring ring B wasn’t the place for lusty daydreams, not with a soul perceiving three-star meister sitting idly by with a fresh Deathbucks brew in hand.  Stein’s sudden sexual awakening wasn’t a form of entertainment, though it was ironic that he had been fed up with the sight of Marie earlier that morning.  Human emotions were curious that way, and often the hammer meister thought he’d be better off without them.

“Finally Ms. Mjolnir graces us with her presence!”

“I’m sorry Professor,” Marie squeaked.  She hurriedly entered the ring, awkwardly struggling to weave her torso through the ropes.  There was something different about her coordination, something worrisome about the way she pawed self-consciously at her left eye.  “I had a little trouble in the locker room.”

“Is that so?” the professor asked shrewdly with a pointed glance in Franken’s direction.   Her next words seemed carefully chosen.  “You’ll want to change into your weapon form straight away.  Are you ready Franken?”

Stein grimaced.  A certain, phallic-shaped part of him would be sad to see Marie’s shorts go.  Maybe if he tilted the reflection, he would be able to make out-

“Franken!” Merryweather exclaimed.  “Are you ready, boy?  I won’t ask a third time.”

“Yes,” Stein said dryly.  He forcefully banished the sight of Marie’s curves from his mind and, without thinking, reached for her hand.

Hand-holding wasn’t necessary, not even orthodox if Stein was honest with himself.  And if there was one thing Stein knew how to do, it was how to resonate with a weapon, any weapon.  Without physical contact or warm, fuzzy feelings.  Without any impedance beyond sating his boredom.  All Stein required was a morbid curiosity and an inclination to see inside a person’s mind in the only fashion that wouldn’t get him on Lord Death’s bad side.  As a rule, Stein could even force the bond, and he had many times before.  But Marie was the exception, his exception.

As the mighty demon hammer Mjolnir grasped his hand, Stein felt it again.  Not a strong resonance as such, but something different, something harmonic.  Where his unhinged mind was prone to race and ravage the wits of lesser mortals, he felt utterly settled, but still powerful, as Marie’s tonfa form came to rest in his hand.

For the first time in recent memory, he could think without being overloaded by his partner’s pointless problems and base desires.  He could feel without the shadow of madness tempting him to dive headfirst off the straight and narrow path.  He could see his favorite Professor staring at him curiously as if she could barely recognize the placid temperament of the young man who stood before her.

And Stein was sure, if he shut his eyes, he would float away and be intrinsically drawn to the place where Marie’s sunny soul existed in his mind’s eye.  Her weapon form was so light and warm in his hand, a more welcoming feeling than he’d ever known.  Linking with Marie was like coming home, only to no place he’d ever been.  Resonance with Marie felt...  No, resonance with Marie was right.

Stein pushed it all aside.  If he had feelings for his weapon, he didn’t need them.  Lord Death had rules concerning weapon-meister fraternization, and Stein was nothing like Spirit.  Women didn’t naturally gravitate to his charms or lack thereof.  Despite evidence to the contrary, Stein told himself Marie wasn’t an exception.  She wasn’t his exception at all.

“Now let’s start with some basics,” Gertrude announced with a quick clap of her hands.  “Fancy footwork is all well and good, but what sets a demon weapon apart from a simple tool is their ability to control their own abilities.  Let's see how you two work together.”

Professor Merryweather rose from her stool, setting her coffee cup down in her stead.  She assumed her preferred fighting stance with her knees bent, left foot forward and right leg supporting her weight.  Merryweather’s fists clenched with palms faced inward.  Stein could see her shrewd eyes over the tops of her knuckles.  Excess amounts of caffeine always made her aggressive, but she wouldn’t throw the first punch without a weapon.

 _“We’re not going to actually hit her, are we?”_ Marie asked skeptically over their resonance link.

Stein chuckled.  “Probably not on our first try.  We’ll have to wear her down.”

The silver-haired meister didn’t wait for his weapon’s inevitable response.  Holding Marie somewhat protectively behind him, he lunged forward toward his dear professor.  As expected, she dodged and threw a charged punch.  Almost reflexively, Stein crossed his arms over his chest using Marie as a shield.  Merryweather’s fist collided with Marie’s metal to the tune of resounding reverberation.

 _“Ouch!”_ Marie exclaimed.  Stein felt the professor’s inhuman force surge through his weapon.

“Tell your girly weapon I don’t believe in pulling my punches,” Merryweather said, breathlessly bobbing and weaving in response’s Stein acrobatic attacks.  She spoke as if Marie couldn’t hear her, and the demon weapon’s soul took exception with the older lady's belittling tone.  “I believe in a practical education.”

As the words left her mouth, Stein slipped past Gertrude as stealthily as a snake.  He stretched out one long arm with his palm jutting out and fingers bent inward.  The male meister’s voice carried no small amount of hubris as he mumbled “Soul Menace” in a low but intense timbre.

Merryweather’s back arched as a fragment of Stein’s electric soul wavelength surged through the palm of his hand and into his favorite professor.  However, the formidable lady didn’t topple over.  She pivoted and jumped back, assuming her initial stance. 

“Lucky shot,” she said, grinning widely. 

“Hardly,” he replied in earnest.  “I learned from the best."

“Flatterer.”

 _“Did you just shock her?”_ Marie inquired. 

“Yes,” he said aloud.

_“With electricity?”_

“Obviously,” he stated.  “That’s how my wavelength manifests when I channel it outside my own body.  I wanted to show you.”

After a beat of thoughtful silence, Marie responded.   _“Do you mind if I… try something?”_    Her words dripped with anticipation.

Stein paused for effect, but only momentarily. This time Gertrude, with flashing eyes and burning soul, went on the offensive.  The hammer meister barely dodged her spirited attack.  “Of course, I thought you’d never ask.”

Both student and teacher weaved about the small confines of sparring ring b, moving fast with as much precision as they could muster.  Experience was Merryweather’s friend as much as youth benefited Stein, but finally, when Stein saw his professor’s footing fumble under the fatigue of her exertions, Marie spoke up.  And not a moment too soon.  Gertrude’s heavy punches might have broken a rib or two.

_“Sideswipe her now, Stein!”_

He obediently reared back his right arm and flipped Marie’s form in his hand until her long end jutted out like a thick, blunt blade.  Then, with a forceful grunt, Stein slammed Marie with all his might into Merryweather’s unguarded side.  Stein felt his wavelength lessen as its charged contents flowed through Marie and combined with her own electric energy.   The tonfa weapon screamed and channeled their combined wavelength into the place where her metal met the professor’s skin.

Gertrude’s eyes went wide, and her breath stilled as she stumbled backward and hung precariously against the sparring ring’s ropes.  With sagging shoulders, she looked up at the pair and smiled proudly.  “Good show, an excellent bit at the end,” she mumbled, clutching her left side.  “Now, Franken, would you be a dear and escort Marie and I to the hospital wing?  I’m not quite sure I remember where it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. As always, kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks and comments are greatly appreciated. Also, check out my tumblr, [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/). Send me an ask, a prompt or even an anon nasty message if that floats your boat.


	9. Breakthrough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to update this fic sooner, but (as you may already know) [life happened](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/post/177332184851/when-life-gives-you-lemons). Thankfully, things at home are mostly back to normal now, and we are officially in the home stretch of this fic!
> 
> That being said, you guys know the drill. Feedback is a beautiful thing. Kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks and comments are so appreciated. Also, stop by my tumblr, [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/). Each ask, like and/or reblog I get is a gift!
> 
> Happy Reading!

Three harried figures maneuvered through the hallowed halls of the DWMA, alarming students and staff in their wake.  Marie led the charge, followed by a heavily supported Professor Merryweather and Stein.  Though fashionably dressed in vibrant athleisure wear, the older English lady seemed to age right before the demon weapon’s eyes.  Blood trickled idly from her busted bottom lip, emphasizing the deep crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes and the salt in her once black pepper hair.  Gertrude winced with every supported step, but, unexpectedly true to her name, the professor’s mood remained eerily merry.

Thankfully, Marie was no stranger to the DWMA’s hospital wing, and the group arrived in a matter of minutes.  Stein wasted no time in helping the professor onto the nearest bed as Marie took a step back to make room for a frazzled Nurse Cherry.  As usual, the room was simple, sterile but cheerful in spite of its utilitarian layout.  Yellow walls with wide windows trimmed in dark stained wood gave the space an atmosphere reminiscent of home.  Though the bed farthest to the right was hidden by weighted honeycomb curtains, Marie knew that three wrought iron bed frames with crisp white linens stood guard along the back wall.

 “Several cracked ribs, muscle strains and a suspected concussion.  Minor injuries,” Nurse Cherry pronounced after a quick consultation and examination.  With her gloved hands firmly placed on her hips and her voluminous bubblegum pink hair alight with movement and frazzled nerves, she continued in her best lecturing voice.  “Exactly what did you think you were doing rushing into a fight without a weapon at your age?"

“Teaching,” Professor Merryweather responded, “and I prefer the term ‘experienced’ for future reference.”

The bubbly caregiver rolled her eyes and turned toward Marie and Stein with a memorable ferocity that Marie had witnessed when she first accompanied Reid after their encounter with Circe.  The young blonde braced herself for a verbal lashing.  Like a splash of cold water, the realization that she and Stein had beat up a teacher settled sickeningly in the pit of her stomach.  Marie reasoned that if Lord Death expelled her this time, she would most definitely have deserved it.

“Don’t start in on my students,” Gertrude commanded with a domineering timbre.  Even so, she winced and gingerly clasped her side, unable to rise to the occasion in any manner other than voice.  “I would have been displeased if they had not applied themselves.  Would you have preferred both of them in my place?”

Despite her better judgment, Nurse Cherry settled for fixing Marie and Stein with a cautionary glare.  She whipped her head back toward the ailing professor an issued a curt reply.  “No.”

Marie breathed a deep sigh of relief as the tension melted from her shoulders.  While standing in the easy company of her new meister, the demon weapon’s attention wandered and fixed on the familiar sound of a heart monitor beating steadily from the far right of the room.  Marie knew that Nurse Cherry housed her long-term patients in that bed, a spot that monopolized the natural light from the corner window. She even knew the silhouette of its current occupant as if the outline had been part of her own shadow.  In the not-so-distant past, it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to say to it had been.

For all intents and purposes, good meister and weapon pairs functioned as one in a fight, but the bubbly blonde could now admit that she and Reid had never made a good team.  Like oil and water, Marie’s deep well of emotions had been spottily concealed by her former meister’s oppressive bravado.  Reid had bossed Marie around without regard for her thoughts or feelings, so unlike Stein.  Indeed, the demon hammer Mjolnir could see it now.  Her former coupling had functioned like a dictatorship, and, well, Reid had most certainly been the dick in that equation.

At the thought, Marie chuckled and pressed her hand over her mouth to suppress a full out laugh, but her blonde hair shook with a silent case of the giggles.  Stein peered over at her and smirked as if to ask ‘ _what’s so funny?_ ’  Marie straightened her face and shrugged in response.  In some laidback fashion, Stein noticed her and seemed to value her as something more than a stepping stone.  But if either Nurse Cherry or her ailing patient saw their interaction, they ignored the pair of teens. 

 “Though now that I think about it, I’m curious about the concussion,” Professor Merryweather interjected with a lighter tone than her precarious predicament warranted.  “What makes you think I have one?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Gertrude,” the nurse responded.  Using a sleek, black ophthalmoscope, she peered into the older woman’s eyes.  “It could be that you’ve taught at this school for over thirty years and couldn’t find the hospital wing today.  Plus, you seemed nice.  It’s odd behavior in my opinion.”

“Well, you do have the drugs, poppet,” Merryweather responded with a saccharin sweet grin.  “Might we get on with your healing and come to the real purpose of this visit?”

“I am a medical professional,” Nurse Cherry haughtily stated, “not an on-demand narcotics dispenser.  If you are insinuating that my infirmary’s primary purpose is to provide patients with unneeded medication, then you are woefully mistaken.”

The English lady face contorted as she seemed to struggle with the very concept of being gracious.  “I lived through the 60s, dear,” she managed.  “I think I’ve had my fill of recreational out of body experiences.  I was talking about Ms. Mjolnir’s vision, of course.  You must speak with her, Poppy.”

At the mention of her name, Marie’s head snapped back toward the nurse and her patient.  Even from behind, the young women saw Nurse Cherry’s posture stiffened.  When the medicinal miracle worker spoke again, her voice was rushed and forcibly hushed.

“Marie’s situation is delicate.  You don’t understand the students as I do,” she replied.  “Better that she come to terms with the changes in her own time.”

“Oh please,” Gertrude exclaimed, “if she doesn’t know what’s happening to her, how can she make sense of her wavelength?  Your approach isn’t working.  Marie is clearly in denial.”

Still confused, the demon weapon’s mind reeled as she turned her attention back to Professor Merryweather and Nurse Cherry.  She struggled fruitlessly to put her thoughts into words but failed to do little more than gawk.  And, when a steady voice interrupted the ladies' bickering, it was not Marie’s.

“There’s nothing wrong with her wavelength,” Stein stated.  His eyes fixed on the cheery caregiver with intensity.

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with her,” the pink-haired woman shot back at Stein, “but I don’t believe this is any of your business.”

“I think it’s his business,” Marie interjected.  She looked toward Stein, her eyes easily meeting his as a warm feeling filled her chest, creeping steadily toward the apples of her cheeks.  “He’s my meister, and I can’t protect him in battle if I’m not honest with him about my abilities.”

For a split second, Marie wondered if she’d overestimated the importance of their pairing.  Maybe Stein only thought of her as a hurdle to overcome in anticipation of whatever reward Lord Death had in store for him, but the information Nurse Cherry withheld has an ominous to it.  Was it so wrong to want someone to confront the truth with?

Luckily, Stein's impassive expression yielded to a small smirk that reached his Kelly green eyes.   And though she knew it was too much too soon, Marie took Stein’s hand again, if only to remind herself that she didn’t have to face the music alone.  With the silver-haired meister by her side, Marie was bold, brave and determined to take the news in stride.

“Whatever you’ve got to say, you can say it to both of us,” Marie announced confidently.

Professor Merryweather grinned smugly at her fellow faculty member.  “You were saying how I don’t understand the students, Poppy.  Please do continue.”

“Oh alright,” Nurse Cherry said, clearly exasperated.  “If it’s three to one, I suppose I’m outvoted.  Best to demonstrate and then explain, but I must warn you, this isn’t public knowledge.”

After a calming breath, the nurse pulled at the tips of her latex gloves.  She hemmed and hawed before tossing the used pair in a small trash bin beside Professor Merryweather’s bed.  Initially confused, Marie watched Nurse Cherry closely, and the young weapon’s eyes grew to the size of saucers when she noticed the state of Poppy Cherry’s hands.

Though small and slender in a manner that matched the nurse’s petite frame, the skin on Nurse Cherry’s hands stuck out in stark contrast to the rest of her youthful physique.  Yellowed (though tidy) fingernails and blotchy patches of color stretched loosely across prominent bone formations.  All the succor of youth had departed for greener pastures, leaving her hands weathered beyond their thirty years.

But Professor Merryweather didn’t shrink away when Nurse Cherry’s withered digits pressed against her wounded side.  Instead, the English lady closed her eyes and released a breath as if soothed by the younger woman’s touch.  Moreover, she openly welcomed the caregiver’s thumb as it momentarily brushed over her bleeding bottom lip.  Marie’s eyes widened as Gertrude’s bleeding stopped, and her tired skin scabbed over.

When Nurse Cherry pulled back, she regarded her ministrations with pride and handed her patient a mirror.  Ever the harsh critic, Professor Merryweather critiqued the nurse’s work in short order.  “Not perfect, but much improved,” she opined, patting her bottom lip.

“That’s not possible,” Stein muttered.  With his curiosity peeked and at the forefront, the lanky student dropped Marie's hand and drew in to inspect Professor Merryweather’s mended mouth.  He fiddled with his glasses as if his own sight had betrayed him.

“Improbable, yes,” the nurse retorted, snapping a fresh pair of gloves over her prematurely aged hands.  “But not impossible.  I can’t cure anyone, mind you; I can only speed up the body’s natural healing processes.”

“But you just fixed her!”  Marie marveled.  She struggled to keep her voice and expectations in check.  “Can I heal people too?   Is this the reason why my eye keeps getting worse?”

“I believe so.  Though, I’m not sure that you’ll be able to speed up healing processes.  Every wavelength is different, very few individuals share specific capabilities, and the ones that do are often related.”

“And all this time I just thought something was wrong with me,” Marie uttered, smiling silly with hands eagerly cupping her face.  “So what can I do?”

“That’s the problem,” the pink-haired woman said solemnly.  “Honestly, I have no idea.”


	10. The Man Behind the Curtain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. This chapter is a long one. As always, kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks and comments are greatly appreciated. Also, check out my tumblr, [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/). Happy reading!

Nurse Cherry laid the information out in clinical shades of gray, oblivious to the elevated ticking of the heart monitor coming from behind the curtain.  From his sorry sick bed, Reid kept himself sullen and silent, arms drawn across his chest with fists clenched in a jealous rage at this injustice of it all.  Despite his much-improved physical condition, the cold facts of his predicament painted a picture that the injured meister was unwilling to face.

Disgraced.  Weaponless.  An all-around failure with few options aside from lying in the bed he had made.

But hope seemed to hang on the edges of the conversation happening just within earshot.  The rumors were true; Maire and Stein had teamed up to face Circe, with faculty support no less.  And now there was something extraordinary happening to Reid’s former weapon.  The timing was convenient, too convenient in Reid’s estimation.  The captivated eavesdropper indignantly consoled himself that their plot was starting to make sense, and if he had anything to say about it, the DWMA would soon know how he had been wronged.

He’d been good to Marie.  Of this fact, Reid had no doubt.  He’d taken her on as a partner even though her weapon form was awkward and heavy; a simple sword would have served him better.  But Reid had persisted, taught her and groomed meek Marie to be the loyal, obliging weapon that Lord Death needed at his beck and call.  Reid even let her live with than useless bow rifle of a friend, Azusa.  And only Death knew what kind of twisted ideas that Committee had planted in his weapon’s mind.  Clearly, she was in on it too, taking advantage of his benevolence.

After all, what had come of his kindness?  Betrayal, pure and simple.

How dare his weapon abandon him after everything he had done for her.  How dare Marie put her loyal meister in this predicament only to shack up with Franken-freakazoid, uncouth and surly as he was.  And to add insult to injury, the foursome prattled away about special wavelengths as if the jilted meister’s presence was an afterthought.  No, as if he didn’t even matter.  It was a grievous mistake to count Reid N. Wheap out, a misstep that had all but unveiled the missing key to the treacherous equation.

Reid had no doubt; this humiliation was planned by none other than Franken Stein.

The white-haired weirdo wanted what Reid had worked so hard to craft.  Spirit had always been a duplicitous weapon, a tool that reluctantly did as he was told two seconds too late.  And Reid hadn’t been surprised when the pair parted ways.  Stein was too strange, too careless in the way he let Spirit run his mouth like something greater than what he was:  a sharp object with a blunt wit.  Kami’s control was even more tenuous, in Reid’s opinion, but at least she had what was between her legs to keep Spirit toeing the party line.

Stein hadn’t been able to control his weapon.  So, naturally, he set his sights on Marie, a weapon whose education in obedience was second to none.  And, Reid feverishly mused, grasping for straws like wisps of smoke floating amidst the addled mess of his mind, if the rumors were true, that maniac of a meister probably shifted her loyalties using some dubious experiment.  It was the only plausible explanation.

“But I must warn you both,” Nurse Cherry stressed, her pitch heightened as she reached the rounded tip of a rehearsed lecture, “give Marie’s abilities a wide berth.  Special wavelengths come in all kinds.  Healing is a good possibility given her eye’s rapid aging, but we can’t be certain until the wavelength manifests itself.”

“Quite right, Poppy,” Professor Merryweather interjected.  “There’s more than one type of healing at that.  Physical, emotional, spiritual…  It could be anything and rarely is the wavelength self-sustaining.”

Nurse Cherry nodded, jumping in to add her two cents.  “Most wavelength anomalies are minute, too niche to be useful or otherwise underdeveloped.  The ones that take a physical toll are usually the most powerful, but the result doesn’t always justify the price you pay, Ms. Mjolnir.  Tread lightly.”

Reid felt rather than heard a pregnant pause, interrupted only by the rustle of sheets and the click-clack of Nurse Cherry’s heels against the wooden floorboards.  Quickly, the blonde meister stilled his movements and forced his chest to rise and fall at an even interval as he turned his head to face the window and shut his eyes.  Nurse Cherry drew back the thick fabric of the dividing curtain enough to peek at Reid before turning back to her patient and the other students.

“Still sleeping,” she announced cheerfully, oblivious to the rage burning in Reid’s chest.  “But the two of you should run along, let the professor get her beauty rest.”

“Of course,” Maire stuttered apologetically.  Her unassuming voice rang out like a bell, cutting her former meister like a knife.  “Should we practice on our own tomorrow while you rest?”

“Nonsense,” Gertrude responded, “and don’t think for one second that you two are done.  Back to the gym with both of you.  I want that special attack you used on me up and running by tomorrow along with any other long-range moves you can control.  Not soul menace though, Franken.  Leave that for private practice.”

“We need to spar against other teams,” Stein said flatly.  “Short of hunting kishin eggs, it’s the best way to prepare.”

Reid nearly growled at the sound of Stein’s nasally, matter-of-fact drawl.  The blonde haired and blue-eyed meister thought the sound of his counterpart’s abominable thoughts were as annoying as they were unremarkable.  In every way that mattered, Reid believed he was the superior meister.  He could take Stein and win, with or without Marie.  Weapons were a dime a dozen.

“And spar you shall,” Professor Merryweather answered.  The aged lady yawned as she shifted in bed, rustling the neatly pressed sheets.  “But not with me… shame.  No, I’ll arrange for some partners for your session tomorrow… Just allow me… rest… dear boy.”

Gertrude’s voice faded and was replaced by unladylike snores in a matter of seconds.  Reid silently sneered as he heard Marie’s melodic giggle.  The sound was foreign to her former meister’s ears but unmistakably Marie at the same time.

“That’ll be the sedatives kicking in,” Nurse Cherry opined.  “You two should get going, and please, try not to send anyone else to my wing.  I’ve got healing hands, but I’m not a miracle worker.  Everything has a cost.”

Yes, everything had a cost, Reid reiterated to himself, and for a meddler like Stein, the payment was coming due.  He would make sure of it.

* * *

 The halls of the DWMA buzzed with unprecedented news that shook the foundation of Lord Death’s acclaimed curriculum:  Extra credit.  And not just any extra credit.  A complete pass on the Super Written Exam, Professor Merryweather’s passion project, her pride, her joy and (some would argue) one of her many unhealthy obsessions.  All the lucky student had to do was win a sparring match against a new meister-weapon pair, Marie Mjolnir and Franken Stein.

“How hard can it be?” Iman asked rhetorically as she and her partner placed their names loud and proud near the top of the top of the signup sheet.  “They’ve only been working together for a few days.  Marie’s a hard weapon to handle, and Stein’s been out of the game for over a year.”

“Agreed,” Izumi, Iman’s partner, echoed, joining hands with her meister in a synchronized show of strength.  “Not to mention this is the perfect opportunity to prove we belong on the EAT track.”

Reid would have been as bamboozled as the rest of his peers had he not overheard a private conversation in the hospital wing the night before.  And owing to his miraculous overnight recovery, he prowled the crowded corridors, face plastered with a rigid grin that didn’t reach his blazing blue eyes.  A thrilled Nurse Cherry had declared him “fit for class” that very morning after he’d finally managed to hold a conversation without falling suddenly silent in an apparent bout of confusion.

The injured meister’s odd symptoms had perplexed the devoted caregiver.  More than once she had lamented that she must have been “losing her touch,” a worrisome prospect given recent revelation about the otherwise youthful nurse.  In reality, she needn’t have worried.  Reid had been fine for days, opting for feigned confusion to stave off an ominous meeting with his Headmaster to discuss his future at the DWMA.  If Marie were to be believed, though for a time Reid doubted whether she’d told him the truth, Lord Death had every intention of holding him back.  Remedial classes at best with a new weapon partner.  At worst…

Reid didn’t want to think about that, and given the plot he’d uncovered, he reasoned the meeting would go down differently than everyone, even Lord Death had anticipated.  But first, he’d have to make Stein confess courtesy of an old-fashioned beating.  The sparring matches were the perfect opportunity, even if Reid couldn’t participate himself.  All he needed was someone else to champion his cause.  Someone who might also have an ax to grind against Franken-freakazoid… or maybe just a scythe.

He found her in the library with her platinum blonde hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Her button nose was buried deep in a massive tome customarily reserved for professors.  A knotty bolero shrug hung across her slender, yet muscular shoulders.  As usual, it was the only piece of her coquettish schoolgirl uniform that wasn’t pressed within an inch of its life.  A thin black choker bearing a sterling silver locket adored her small neck, no doubt a present from the mess of limbs and scarlet hair who was audibly snoozing in the chair next to her.

“Kami!” Reid called out with arms outstretched as if he was greeting a dear friend.  He swallowed his pride even as his throat tightened in defiance of being friendly with his competition.  He needed her – needed them – to make Stein admit the truth.

With an indignant glance up, Kami’s icy blue eyes met Reid’s equally attractive stare, but her annoyance melted as the dots connected in her mind's eye.  The able-bodied meister nudged her weapon partner with her elbow, and Spirit awoke with a start.

“I’snat sleepin’,” the scarlet-haired scythe managed, wiping drool from the corner of his mouth.  Kami shot him an incredulous look.

“Hello Reid,” she stated cordially.  “It’s good to see you out and about.  Is there something I can do for you?  Spirit and I are quite busy.”  She placed her hand possessively over her partner in a subtle, but unmistakable show of partnership.

“Relax,” Reid said. He re-upped his approachable demeanor.  “I’m not here to poach your weapon.  I was just wondering if you were planning on taking advantage of Professor Merryweather’s challenge.”

“Nah,” Spirit asserted, kicking back in his chair.  “We got no need for that extra credit.  Kami has the top grade on the Super Written Exam locked up without any help.  She’s smart enough for the both of us.”

“It’s foolish to engage in a fight that doesn’t count toward our kishin egg count.  Besides,” Kami added, “we avoid _him_ when possible.”

Reid shuffled his feet for a moment against the worn low pile carpet.  It wasn’t the answer he had been hoping for.  Though, he supposed there was some wisdom in Kami’s reluctance.  Stein would know, better than anyone, how to fight against Spirit and how to hit him where it hurt.  If only he could wield a weapon, any Death-forsaken tool of a human being, he could make them pay.  Reid would hit Maire so hard that he’d knock her out of Stein’s clutches and obliterate her new partnership before she could say “betrayal.”  Then, Marie would see the error of her ways and beg for him to take her back like the subservient weapon he’d helped her become before she contracted this foolish notion of independence.

Reid dug deep; he needed Kami’s help.

“Listen, the thing is that Marie’s scared of Stein,” Reid blurted out, surprised by his own imagination.  “She told me so herself in the hospital wing last night.  She doesn’t want to fight a witch with him; they’re not ready, but he won’t take no for an answer.”

Both Spirit and Kami exchanged a knowing look.  Reid continued, pulling details from thin air.

“If they get beaten today, Lord Death will reassign the witch fight, and I know you guys are almost there... and powerful.  The best way to help Maire is to beat them, but I can’t do it.”

“Reid, I-,” Kami’s words faltered as she gazed over at Spirit.  The normally jovial scythe’s face was ashen; his features grew sharper, laden with worry. “I think you should take this up with the professors.  Surely, they could talk to Lord Death and reassign the operation.”

“I have!” Reid bellowed.  “Merryweather won’t listen.  She’s obviously on Stein’s side.  She doesn’t care about Marie.  And… I can… I can… help.  I can tell you all Marie’s weaknesses.  I’m sure Spirit knows enough about Stein.”

“I do know enough about Stein,” Spirit echoed.  His words held weight that Reid neither noticed nor comprehended.  “And Merryweather probably isn’t concerned with Marie’s wellbeing, Kami.  She said as much after class on Monday.”

“See,” Reid exclaimed with an excited note of defensiveness in his voice, “she’s not even trying to hide her favoritism.  If you guys don’t step in to help Marie, no one will.”

With the tenderness of a lover and the resolve of a defiant victim, Spirit laced his fingers through his partner’s and brought her hand to his mouth.  He pressed his lips to Kami’s smooth skin, and after dropping her hand, Spirit sighed.  Reid waited for an answer with unbridled enthusiasm.

“You saved me from him when I couldn’t stand up for myself,” Spirit explained.  “What’d ya say?  Can you do it again for Marie?  Fight for her, like you fought for me?”

Kami took a breath and gulped, swallowing her regrets to quiet her nerves.  When she exhaled, the skilled scythe meister met Reid’s eager gaze, eyes flashing with primordial ire and determination.  Even without words, her answer was as certain as the unrelenting laughter of the Nevada sun.

* * *

At a quarter past three in the afternoon, a crowd had gathered around sparring ring B in the DWMA’s spacious gym.  Whispers reverberated in the hollow of the tall ceiling punctuated by ferocious grunts and the sickening metallic clink of clashing weapons.  Franken Stein and his new weapon partner, the fearsome demon hammer Marie Mjolnir, had gone five rounds and won against all manner of partners from both the NOT and EAT tracks.  Professor Merryweather’s prize remained unclaimed.  She lazily judged each contest from her corner perch, looking every bit the formidable three-star meister she was in a solid black tracksuit with her curly gray hair pulled back by a matching handkerchief.

The crowd worked itself into a fever pitch as Iman advanced upon Stein with her katana poised to strike.  Izumi’s silver blade curved elegantly and glinted under the overhead lights as Iman confidently charged forward, sure that she had caught her counterpart with his guard down.  But Stein, now sporting a bloody lip and a black-eye grinned widely.  With his back turned toward his aggressor, he listened as the sound of Iman’s battle cry grew closer and closer.  At the last second, his torso turned forward and Stein lunged low with the long side of Marie’s tonfa form guarding his right arm.  The demon hammer’s metal collided with Iman’s toned abdomen, and the force of Stein and Maire’s combined wavelength propelled their counterparts backward.  Izumi rematerialized and caught Iman as the meister stumbled and nearly fell to the ground.

“We surrender!” Izumi said over her partner’s protests.  She all but dragged her meister from the ring as applause rippled through the crowd.  Professor Merryweather nodded in approval when the pair passed.  Iman’s technique was impressive, but her spirit was truly indomitable.

“Well, that’s the last fight for today,” Merryweather announced, hopping from her stool and waving her clipboard to disperse the crowd.  “Show’s over folks.  I’ll see all of you in class on-”

“STEIN!”

The double doors of the gym swung open to reveal Kami grasping a jet-black scythe in her white-gloved hands.  The daring scythe meister dashed through the crowd as it parted and closed in her wake until she stood ringside.  Reid traveled stealthily behind the new challengers, settling for a position at the periphery of the action with a smug smile. 

Kami entered the ring without waiting for an invitation and spun Spirit menacingly above her head in a show of impressive dexterity.  With a glare that could have chilled the hardened heart of the grim reaper himself, Kami pointed Spirit’s black blade directly at Stein, beaten and bloody as his body was.  She declared war.

“I challenge you,” she bellowed.  “Right here.  Right now.”

Merryweather tutted, puffing out her chest indignantly as she started to separate the meister and weapon pairs, but Stein held out his arm, blocking her path.  The teacher halted, giving her favorite student a severe look.  The hammer meister’s breath came in heavy drags; his gym shirt laid in tatters just outside the ring, and his pants hung haphazardly from his narrow hips.  However, despite the ravaged look of his bruised torso and the blood oozing from the corner of his mouth, his eyes were all green fire, ready to consume anything (or one) that dared stand in his path.

“I accept,” he sneered with a ragged voice that belied his tired body.  He clutched Marie’s pristine weapon form tightly as their resonance strengthened and swelled.  Electricity filled the air.


	11. Win, Lose or Draw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. So the holidays are upon us. While this is my busiest time of the year apart from wedding season, I hope to update this every three weeks. We'll see how it goes. I'm also going to try to participate in [Moms Made Fullmetal 2018](https://moms-made-fullmetal-2018.tumblr.com/) and  
> [ Fullmetal Alchemist Secret Santa](http://fullmetalsecretsanta.tumblr.com/). That could slow my progress too; however, if ever you get Worthy fever, feel free to check in with on tumblr @ [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/). Encouragement always helps me make progress, and I might have a sneak peek to share.
> 
> And, as always, if you're feeling totally awesome and generous, feedback is LIFE. Kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks and comments are so appreciated.

This was not how Spirit wanted to spend his Wednesday afternoon. Or any day for that matter.

It wasn’t just that he was afraid of Stein, though he most certainly was. Spirit had no choice but to own that he was chilled to the bone at the very sight of this former meister just sitting idly in a classroom. Stein’s green eyes would often glaze over with callous boredom, and his mind would meander to places far removed from any recognizable realm of decency. An idle Stein was a dangerous Stein, a madman who had remorselessly cut Spirit open from nose to navel for the sheer pleasure of discovering the secrets hidden beneath his skin and between his bones. All this in the name of alleviating boredom.

But this iteration of Stein was…

Spirit grasped at the right words, and despite the figure advancing toward his darling meister, the scythe’s mind wandered. Spirit’s thoughts slipped through his fingers like the silky strands of Kami’s hair, and the not-so-distant memory of her laying under him, her skin so pliant to the touch, thrust itself to the forefront. The red-blooded teenager enjoyed the memory more than he had any right to.

“Spirit! Are you paying attention?” Kami bellowed, her grip tightened around his scythe form. “This isn’t the time to choke.”

Not unlike his vivid imagination, Spirit’s mouth had a salacious streak that reared its head at the most inconvenient moments.

“I’m not the one who chokes, babe,” he purred suggestively over their wavelength connection.

“Dammit Spirit,” Kami growled through gritted teeth. “I haven’t got time to deal with your coping mechanisms.”

Wordlessly, Stein went on the offensive; if Kami had blinked, she would have missed it. His nimble footwork appeared featherlight to Spirit, though admittedly the backend of the hammer meister’s movement was harried, encumbered by fatigue where Kami’s reflexes were well rested. With pride, Spirit noticed that his girlfriend easily parried Marie’s initial blow. She summoned her strength and pushed against Marie’s tonfa form, throwing Stein back.

For the life of him, Spirit tried to focus.

“There’s something different about Stein,” the demon scythe remarked, glancing at him through the reflection of his midnight blade. Again, the hammer meister rushed toward them, swerving to his left at the last second and clipping Kami’s unguarded right shoulder. “He’s focused. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s following a plan, not acting on impulse like old times.”

In the time it took Spirit to ponder the difference between the deranged meister who had so ruthlessly wielded him and the man now blocking and striking with precision, Stein circled around. He addressed his new weapon with controlled vigor. “I agree, Marie. Now!”

No sooner than the words had left Stein’s bloodied lips than the tonfa’s sleek frame filled with white light and transfigured into a formidable hammer. As Marie's famed form finished materializing, her meister swung low, aiming at Kami’s knees. Kami handily dodged the weapon’s impact, but Spirit felt the fizzling current of Stein and Marie’s combined wavelengths lingering in the demon hammer Mjolnir's wake. This time, Kami stumbled backward, guarding with Spirit’s handle to stave off a secondary attack.

This was not the fight they had prepared for.

While Reid had described Marie as a clunky, weighted weapon who was incapable of sprightly moves, Spirit called bullshit. A clear-eyed Stein wielded her like an extension of his own being. He said her name almost reverently in phrases indicative of a conversation. It was bizarre behavior coming from a person who embodied the textbook definition of bizarre. Yet, now he appeared, if not calm, honed in on the task at hand, planning and plotting where a mad melee rage would have been more in character.

“New plan,” Spirit interjected, no longer worried about poor, defenseless Marie. “He’s not going give you an opening in close quarters combat like we’d hoped, babe. Wear him down and then-”

Kami cut Spirit off with a confident smirk. “Gotcha. Get ready, on my mark.” She lunged toward Stein with a swift swing of her scythe. While her strength was lacking, Kami’s speed with a blade was unrivaled, even the EAT ranks, even against the new and improved Stein. “It’s my turn, YOU FREAK!”

Spirit’s curved blade missed Stein by fractions of an inch. His arms flew up as he withdrew, holding Marie’s glinting metal above his head, out of harm’s way. In a split-second, Spirit noticed the hammer’s meister’s eyes had grown wide with alarm. Beaten, bruised and bleeding though he had been many times before, Stein had never given a damn about himself or Spirit in a fight. Reckless disregard was what had put him a cut above the rest, or so Spirit had always assumed. Maybe they could use this.

“Do you see what I see?” Spirit asked Kami as the match continued. Stein dodged Kami swipes with a studied ease that could only have been bred by familiarity.

“A little busy here, Spirit,” she panted through labored breaths. She heaved her scythe around to keep Stein at a distance.

“His stance, Kami,” the scythe nearly shrieked. “He’s only guards with Marie when he has to; he’s holding her behind him.”

As if to further Spirit’s point, Stein dodged another mighty swing and jumped back to the edge of the ring. For the first time since the start of the fight, Spirit got a good look at former meister. He was worn down, this much was certain. Yet, Stein held his disfigured chest high; his eyes filled with voracious rapture, but his hands were steady. Even the set of his jaw was still where it would have normally been flapping to make some nonsensical point. Sure enough, the hammer meister’s lanky right arm was thrust behind his slight frame. He shielded Marie using his own body.

“Don’t think she can take a hit?” Kami questioned angrily. “Is that why you keep dodging instead of guarding? Or is it because Marie doesn’t want to be here in the first place, and you’ve finally grown a conscience.”

Stein haughtily scoffed in reply to a question that Kami hadn’t asked. “I’m not sure why everyone keeps underestimating you either, Marie.”

Spirit didn’t have to see Kami to know that these few words had irritated her more than any cutting comeback could have. Once again, her gloved grip tightened uncomfortably around the scythe’s handle. She hated being ignored, he knew, almost as much as she hated being wrong. In one sentence, Stein had implied both.

“It’s time, Spirit!” Kami yelled, and she left no room for argument.

Their move. Their special move honed over the course of about two dozen kishin egg hunts. Their ace in the hole for the day when they went after a witch. The one that was not intended to be used against any being with an uncorrupted soul let alone classmates.

Spirit set his guilt aside and consoled himself that the DWMA was, as everyone was so fond of saying, that kind of school. If any Professor would allow it, it was Professor Merryweather.

With catlike speed, Kami rushed at Stein, scythe raised. Their souls resonated, humming in harmonious pitches until their individual frequencies were indistinguishable, woven round and connected like a tight double helix. Even as a weapon, Spirit marveled at the bond, how he could almost see into his girlfriend’s mind. Resonance was intimate with partners like Kami whereas Stein’s probing intellect had always been a one-way street.  
“Witch Hunter!” she exclaimed as she twirled her weapon and propelled the attack forward.

Spirit’s blade didn’t touch Stein. Indeed, it wasn’t meant to. Instead, a streak of white-hot light surged in his direction, slicing the padded floor of the ring as it traveled along a straight path. Spirit assumed Stein would counter the blow using Marie as his guard, and this was all that mattered.

While shielded from sightlines by the brilliance of her witch hunter, Kami jumped. She thrust her body upward using Spirit like a pole vault. Her muscles tensed and strained, demanding every last ounce of core strength which adorned her lithe frame. Spirit felt a rush, as if weightless and suspended mid-air as Kami held him above her head, ready to strike. Again, he felt a surge of pride, confident that victory was theirs as the dust began to settle, revealing…

The blunt end of a hammer shooting toward them turning end over end as fast as a bullet.

Marie slugged Kami hard and fast in the stomach. The surprised meister gasped for breath and fell. She crumpled on her side, struggling to breathe as Spirit reflexively transformed from a blade to boy of 17.

“Kami,” he yelled, scrambling to cradle her small figure. “Can you hear me? Are you alright?”

The young woman struggled to her knees and doubled over her aching belly, incapable of speech, let alone further fighting. Alive, but not quite kicking.

“Damn you, Stein. Why I oughta-” His voice trailed off as he glanced across the ring.

Stein wasn’t moving. Marie, now also in her human form, bent over her partner’s unconscious body. A wound on Stein’s shoulder gushed crimson despite the towel Marie pressed to the clean slash, stymieing his lifeforce’s persistent flow. She muttered indecipherably under her breath.

Clearly, Stein had suspected that witch hunter was a diversionary tactic and had thrown Marie skyward to catch Kami in a vulnerable state. By doing so, he absorbed the full force of her witch hunter. And for all Spirit’s suspicions that Kami’s witch hunter wouldn’t really hurt Stein, it seemed to have done a fine job and then some.

“Out of the way,” Professor Merryweather interjected, pushing Marie’s fidgeting hands to one side. She produced a compact mirror and held it under Stein’s nose. The lines of the English lady’s face relaxed as the mirror fogged. Merryweather straightened up and addressed Kami.

“Can you stand, girl?” she asked.

Kami clamored to her feet, heavily supported by Spirit but determined to be the last meister standing.

“Yes, professor,” she replied in a breathy whisper.

“Then congratulations are in order, but first, hospital wing.”

* * *

 “Was I unclear when I asked you two not to send anyone to the hospital wing?” Nurse Cherry stated loudly. She directed her cutting remarks toward Marie and a barely conscious Stein. The silver-haired meister’s pallor matched the pillows of the third bed lining the wall of the school’s infirmary. Marie stood with her back toward her classmates. “What were you thinking taking a sparring exercise this far?”

Poppy Cherry paused as if waiting for an answer to a rhetorical question. “Did it dawn on any of you that extra credit isn’t worth the risk?”

Spirit couldn’t bring himself to look at the pair of them. In fact, he hadn’t even offered to help heave Stein’s body to the hospital wing for fear of touching him when not in weapon form. He felt fragile in his own skin, very mortal and susceptible. As if on cue, Kami laced her fingers through his. Spirit smiled weakly in return and squeezed her hand.

“Come off your high horse, Poppy,” Professor Merryweather said. “Franken will be fine. He has sustained blood loss like this many times just experimenting on himself. He always bounces back.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” the enraged caregiver countered. “You let him do all this to himself. Stitched half to hell and poked more than a seamstresses’ favorite pin cushion. It’s not just indecent; it’s dangerous, Gertrude.”

“It’s better than him doing it to someone else,” Kami chimed in. Her voice was small but prideful. Some, not Spirit, of course, would say she sounded holier than thou.

“What do you mean by that?” Marie asked.

“Nothing,” Merryweather said pointedly. “She means nothing by that, dear. She’s confused.”

“I’m-” Kami stopped short, staring bewildered at Marie, who had finally turned to face the rest of the room. “How did you hurt your eye?” she said in ominously measures phrases.

For the first time that day, Spirit took a good look at the human form of the demon hammer Mjolnir. Again, he felt his stomach drop and viewed Marie’s eyepatch with fear etched across his furrowed crimson brow. It was happening again. Stein was tearing into Marie despite all the promises and precautions the staff said they had in place. And it started in less than a handful of days. Spirit couldn’t abide this. Throwing caution to the wind, he turned angrily turned upon Gertrude.

“What the hell is that, professor? You said she was accounted for. You said you knew what he was up to!”

“That is none of your business,” Professor Merryweather responded with ire. “And you’d do well to remember who you’re talking to, child.”

“Actually,” Nurse Cherry chimed in, while still tending Stein’s wounds, “this is a perfect teaching moment.” She straightened up, and adjusted Stein’s IV, patting him on his bandaged shoulder. “Marie, you know Kami, right?”

“Of course,” Maire responded with a nod in Kami’s direction.

Poppy continued hopefully, eager to diffuse the tension building between the sets of teens. “Well, I’m sure Kami won’t mind me telling you, but she has a special wavelength, like you. Granted, hers has been passed down her family line, I suspect, much like your weapon form. And she hasn’t experienced any physical drawbacks, but maybe she should tell you.”

“You have a special wavelength?” Kami said, concern evaporating away.

“We think so,” Marie confirmed. “My eyesight has been fading for some time, and they only told me about special wavelengths yesterday. I’ve been too embarrassed to wear this before now.”

“I had no idea, Marie,” Kami recovered. “I was concerned… oh, but yes, I have one too. It’s an anti-demon wavelength. I can channel in through soul resonance with Spirit to perform stronger attacks.”

“That’s helpful,” Marie responded with a smirk.

“I’m sure yours will be great too,” Kami added. Ever the academic, she bit her lip continued hesitantly. “I haven’t met many people with special wavelengths. I’d love to sit down with you sometime and go over your experience, only if you’re interested.”

Marie paused, not oblivious to the shift in the room’s dynamic. Professor Merryweather cut in.

“Right,” Gertrude huffed in a business-like manner. “Now if you’re finished with them, Poppy, I think it’s time for Kami and Spirit to resume their normal class schedule. We can talk about the Super Written Exam later.” Spirit smiled cheekily when he saw the sour face his professor made.

“But they didn’t win.”

The room collectively turned toward Stein’s raspy voice. Nurse Cherry immediately frowned and advanced with a chiding phrase hanging from the tip of her tongue. Franken held out a hand to keep her at bay and set his face in a grimace. He forced himself into an upright position with the help of Maire, who had woven an arm around her meister to support him.

“You were knocked unconscious and couldn’t fight, Franken,” Merryweather explained. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“You underestimate her too, Professor?” he observed somewhat sadly, directing his gaze toward Marie.

“What do you mean?” Marie asked with furrowed brows.

“I mean you would have won,” Stein added in answer to her question. “Kami couldn’t fight either, and in a contest between you and Spirit, you would have won. He can’t,” Spirit hissed in defiance of his wounds, “self-wield. I’ve never seen him partially transform like you can. Scythes have no shortage of meisters willing to wield them. They never focus on techniques like that. ”

“So that’s why you didn’t want to guard with her,” Spirit asked an air of unintentional admiration in his voice. “You wanted to preserve her strength and take Kami down.”

“Yes, Spirit,” Stein confirmed in a harsh but hushed tone. “If you’d let the match play out to its natural conclusion-”

“Pft, we didn’t lose. It’s a draw at best.” Kami scoffed haughtily, perturbed by the prospect of an “L” in her column.

Spirit rolled his eyes as a pleased expression graced Merryweather’s features. “An interesting theory, Franken. I will take it into consideration. Now, if you’ve no bumps or bruises that required Nurse Cherry’s attention, off with you two.”

Kami pushed herself off the bed and unceremoniously strode toward the door in long, lanky strides. Low-grade anger seeped from her pores, despite her locked lips. And though Spirit knew he should leave it alone, he couldn’t quiet the rhetoric that’d prompted them to challenge Stein and Marie in the first place. In rung between his ears like a catchy chorus on loop, echoing louder with each repetition because the reasoning now sounded so off-key.

“Can I talk to you for a moment, Marie?” Spirit asked, gesturing to the hallway.

Marie’s head cocked, but she brightened and nodded. No sooner had the latch on the door clicked than Spirit released his question like a breath of stale air.

“Is Stein forcing you to fight the witch?” he blurted out.

Even Kami’s interest seemed piqued. She drew near to better hear the exchange.

“Of course not. I asked him to work with me.”

“And you feel safe with him?”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

Spirit stopped short of giving Marie an answer, torn between his promise to keep quiet and the truth.

“Back in there,” Marie continued, gesturing toward the hospital wing, “when you got mad, I felt like everyone knew something I didn’t.”

“It’s not important, Marie.”

“You both flipped when you saw my eye patch,” she stressed. “Why?”

His feet felt rooted to the stop, spiked and skewered by Maire’s penetrating gaze. Spirit searched for the words in vain, mouth gaping like a trout. He didn’t see Kami’s determined gaze until it was too late. No, she didn’t like losing, not in the slightest.

“He’s a pervert, Marie,” Kami said with a cold glint in her eyes.

“Kami, we agreed that-”

“She has a right to know,” Kami stated in a snide voice. “And if they’re not going to be honest with her, I don’t see why we shouldn’t tell her? For her protection, of course.”

“I don’t need to protect myself around him” Marie asserted. “What do you have against Stein?”

The cruel curl on Kami’s lips told Spirit it was useless to argue. One way or another, she would tell Marie every last gruesome detail of the sordid ordeal. He stood idly by his girlfriend’s side with his hands shoved in his pockets as she recounted Stein’s many sins with gusto. It went against every promise they’d made to Lord Death during the aftermath of Spirit’s reassignment, but there was nothing for it .

Spirit could honestly say he didn’t like this side of Kami. She wanted to win so much sometimes that her harsh tactics changed the game. All meisters had a competitive streak, Spirit often rationalized, in the wakes of their ups and downs. This too would pass.

A shapely silhouette caught his eye as its owner drew near and sauntered passed the group of three. Spirit caught the lovely lady’s eye and tossed her a charming grin. It was an innocent flirtation, he told himself. After all, with Kami so distracted, it didn’t hurt to look.


	12. Helter-Skelter

Marie didn’t return to Stein’s bedside, but the treacherous sedative Nurse Cherry injected into his veins told him not to worry.  It made his limbs feel heavy; it told his eyes to flutter shut. And without the memory of falling asleep, Stein fell, his world blurred and dreamland knocked.

However, Stein didn’t find an oversaturated, b-movie set stocked with gore and mayhem on the flip side of his consciousness.  Instead, he embraced the epitome of barren solace. Though the entire scene was bathed in blue, neither the laughing sun nor the grinning moon lit the desert backdrop.  The dim landscape felt real but austere, and he recognized this distorted place as his windswept practice grounds. Stein’s bare figure crouched down, and he plunged his cupped hands into the cold, ultramarine sand.  Silently, he pulled back and spread his digits, allowing the imaginary grains to slip through his fingers like smooth silk of a spider’s web.

Stein stood and looked toward a pulsating light in the distance traveling in a straight path along the razor’s edge of a sand dune.  It was a golden sphere, and at the circle’s center there was a body, a woman’s body, bare like his but with soft curves and flowing flaxen locks.  She walked toward him with featherlight footfalls that left no evidence of her existence, and the nearer she came, the surer Stein was that she was the sun and he the moon.

They met in the middle, drawn together, again, by something other than logic.  And though the urge to search for the reason persisted, it lessened with each heavy step in the right direction.  Finally, the young meister reached out for the golden woman’s hand and her fingers stretched toward his in return.  Stein’s blue glow met his counterpart’s golden radiance as the twist and turn of the colors played tricks on his eyes.  Yellow darkened, blending into blue, and Stein hardly knew where he ended and she began.

 _Marie_.  The name echoed in his mind and within the unexplored cockles of Stein’s metronomic heart.  His hand inched closer to hers, knowing that the more they connected the harder it would be to go back to just classmates or acquaintances or partners.  He reached anyway and was disappointed when instead, she pulled away. Beneath his feet, the crest of the dune crumbled. Stein was buried as his vision, once so clear, became clouded by dark blue sand, a madness of his own creation.

He woke, gasping for breath and aching for a cigarette to soothe his testy nerves.  Nurse Cherry, a morning person no doubt, smiled brightly with perfectly quaffed hair and rosy cheeks.  Like the personification of hope springing anew, she thrust the thick, white curtain of Stein’s hospital bed open to greet the light of a new day, Thursday.  Three days left until their grand partnership expired as of right.

“Morning!”  Poppy greeted.  “Sleep well?”

Stein didn’t answer, but not for lack of trying.  His tongue felt sticky, and his throat was dry. Confusion reigned as Stein reflexively reached for a nonexistent cigarette on the nearest nightstand.  His palm found only an old lighter and sterile stainless steel.

“There will be none of that in here, Mr. Stein,” Nurse Cherry said, tutting.  “Death knows how you got them in the first place. No matter. I’ve confiscated the lot from your bag, and we’ve got a few rules to review before you depart for whatever bedlam Professor Merryweather has planned for you and Marie today.”

“Am I being discharged then?” Stein asked.  He sat up straight in his bed and inspected his wounds, impressed both by the miraculous healing as well as the bruises which remained.  The amateur surgeon unraveled the layers of bandage on his shoulder and was pleased to find the deep wound halfway healed. Nurse Cherry’s sutures were smaller than his own, perfected by a steady hand that knew no madness.

The scar would be so small; it was a shame.

“Afraid so,” the bubbly caregiver responded. “Gertrude was right; you bounce back.  But mark my words, if I find you darkening my doorstep again with serious sparring wounds, I’ll let you lie in that bed until everything heals naturally, and if I see any more self-inflicted cuts, I won’t hesitate to hold you until I can verify your mental status.  Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Stein quipped dryly.

He made a mental note to keep future exploratory surgeries underneath his sleeves.

Within 30 minutes time, Nurse Cherry discharged Stein under protest, and she didn’t hesitate to offer other words of warning as the lanky teen brushed off her concerns about his mental stability.  With a shrill voice that modulated enthusiastically as she spoke, the devoted caregiver chided him. Her pointer finger hovered millimeters from his stitched chest as she rambled. Stein smirked as he buttoned up his shirt and turned, nonplussed, to leave the infirmary.

“You will check in with me, won’t you,” she added with furrowed eyebrows.  The timbre of her voice turned on a dime, from heated to halting. “I understand that most of the staff is hesitant around you because they don't quite know what to do with a student that’s too smart for his own well-being.  But no good can come of getting stuck inside that big brain of yours. If you find yourself fixating again, you’ll stop by here, won’t you? Don't go cutting into yourself or _worse_ to find an answer that isn’t there.”

Stein could have scoffed at her words, but he schooled his scowl to remain placid and willed her words to not dig too deeply under his thin, marked skin.  “Of course,” he replied convincingly as a sickly smile stretched the rigid corners of his mouth.

* * *

Stein stalked the halls of the DWMA with purpose, acutely aware that the morning had nearly come and gone.  They hadn’t agreed to meet prior to practice; nevertheless, Stein had expected Marie to show up sometime during his discharge examination.  Her blonde hair would have been neatly plaited in pigtails or simply tossed over her shoulder, and her chestnut eye would have flashed with an enthusiasm Stein craved like nicotine.  Together, they would have strolled back to the gym, making ten wrong turns while Marie recited Azusa’s latest gossip with near-perfect recall.

For the record, Stein had been looking forward to it.

But this vision wasn’t fueled by pure hope or sketchy intuition; that was just the sort or thoughtful gesture she made with shocking regularity.  Except, this time, she didn’t. At the slightest noise, his eyes had flitted to the door, and each time the sound had dissipated, leaving empty silence in its wake.

Curious.

By the time the young meister arrived at the gym at nearly a quarter to eleven, Stein realized he missed Maire.  And not just talking to her or staring at her or her weapon form’s satisfying pressure against his palm. He missed listening to her endless musings about their classmates or Circe or the weather.  Stein missed her animated eagerness, a trait that complemented his voracious intellectual appetite, and Stein would be lying if he said he didn’t wish their partnership could continue past the end of the week.  But Marie was nowhere to be found.

Stein took a quick shower to clear his head, but, if anything, the wet steam in the locker room worked against his intent.  As he breathed in the cleansing vapor, Stein closed his eyes, covered by the warm, steady stream propelled downward by state of the art showerheads.  The meister’s mind flitted back to the dream, the fight, those tiny shorts Marie wore so well and that resonance, _their_ resonance.  The whole situation was distracting, maddening and complicated.  Stein grinned wickedly as he shut off the water and threw a towel across his tortured frame.

Changing one variable would skew the whole partnership, and that wouldn’t do.  Circumstances had never been ordinary for Stein. Why would partnerships or relationships be any different?  He resolved that he’d have it - whichever _it_ was - no other way.

At long last, Stein found Marie perched ringside, waiting for him to exit the locker rooms.  Even as the young man approached, skin dewy and gym shirt clinging to the indentions in his shoulders and chest, she didn’t rise to greet him.  Instead, Marie sat sullen and still, a lonely sight in bellbottom jeans and a flowy top bearing bright blue Scandinavian embroidery. Her hair was tucked neatly behind her ears and a familiar black eyepatch cut across her fair skin.  With lips set in a sturdy frown, she seemed ready to defend herself, but not physically. Stein put the pieces together with exacting precision, and his stomach lurched.

She knew.

“Were you going to tell me before we left to fight Circe?” Marie asked with a menacing edge to her voice.

“No,” Stein answered coldly.  He stuffed his hands in his pockets to disguise his fidgeting fingers, still yearning for nicotine. “It’s supposed to be a secret, for whatever that’s worth around here, and when we met, you said you didn’t care what happened between me and Spirit.”

“If I’d have known how serious the allegations were, I would have cared,”  Marie said, brows furrowed. Manicured fingernails dug into her palms as she rose to confront her duplicitous partner.  “Kami had to tell me, and I looked so foolish defending you when…”

Marie’s voice trailed off and her teeth clenched.  She paused before meeting Stein’s eyes, and the soul-perceiving meister felt her wavelength swell.  Though her soul was like a small flame fanned into a raging fire, he resisted the urge to reach and connect.  Against all odds, perhaps he had finally learned to respect a weapon partner’s boundaries, though far too little and also too late.

“Did you do it?” Marie angrily pressed.  “Did you dissect Spirit over and over again in his sleep?”

Stein was many things, but he wasn't a liar, not when the question was posed so plainly.

“Yes.”

“How could you do something like that to your partner?  Spirit trusted you,” Marie nearly shrieked. Her shrill voice echoed throughout the empty gym.

“I was bored and curious,” Stein answered, again, honestly.  “Spirit was too preoccupied to notice. Though, for what it’s worth, I’ve done worse to myself.”

As if to make some salient point, Stein thrust the hem of his gym shirt up to reveal rows of jagged sutures sewn into the skin of his chest.  He paused, momentarily, to give Marie a good look at what she had already known was there, crooked lines and pale flesh against a set of fine muscles.  Stein wasn’t well; he never pretended to be, but if he was a monster so were they for turning a blind eye to the whims of his difficult madness. The royal “they” had quarantined him inside his Patchwork Labs rather than treat Stein as an equal.

“Don’t say you didn’t know, Marie,” Stein concluded.  His own soul swirled, contents raging against their fragile container.  “Cast me aside like everyone else, but don’t pretend to be as ignorant as Spirit is.  You’re better than that.”

Marie blushed, taken aback by the sudden ferocity in Stein’s countenance.  Her eye scanned his chest, and she saw him plainly, sans her optimistic, rose-colored glasses.  Flustered, the formidable hammer weapon began to collect her purse and pushed herself off the stool in anticipation of a hasty retreat.

“If we’d been closer…” she started, trailing off again as social niceties failed her.  “I don’t know, Stein. I’m not a doctor, but I am wasting time. Circe is my only shot at death scythe status, and unless you can give me a good reason not to walk out that door, I’ve got to meet with Lord Death and beg for more time.  Why I should trust you with the most important fight of my life when you didn’t give a damn about Spirit?”

“You’re not Spirit,” Stein stressed.  He reached out to touch Marie’s arm, to urge her to stay.  However, Stein’s hand withdrew at the last moment. Still, she was so close that his cold fingers could sense the warmth of her skin.  “I wouldn’t do that to you, Marie. You’re different. When I’m with you, I feel in control.”

“How can I be sure?” she asked. “We’ve only been together, _working_ together for four days.”

Stein knew his response was illogical before the words left his lips, but he said it anyway to ensure that their resonance happened once more, if only once.  His answer was dangerous, uncertain and probing. It suited its progenitor, and perhaps that was why Marie didn’t dismiss it like so many others would have.

“What if there was a way you could know?” he queried. Stein’s emerald eyes were slits peeking down at his partner through a fringe of silver hair.  “And if it doesn’t work, you’ll have no reason to speak to me ever again.”

Though she kept a respectable distance, Marie’s determined glare found Stein.  The intensity of her gaze shot through him like a lightning bolt. Instantly, his muscles felt taunt and his reflexes charged.  Stein’s intellect braced itself for the coming task.

“What do you have in mind?”

* * *

The door leading to the special tutoring room was almost indistinguishable from the multitude of entryways lining the aged corridors of the DWMA.  Basement stone lead Stein down deeper and deeper until a chill nipped at his lanky limbs, even at the height of spring. Yet, the tall archway of the narrow corridor reminded Stein of the gravitas Lord Death’s precious school commanded, especially at its lowest levels.  War was woven into very the fabric of this prestigious institution, and like Shakespeare's rose, the DWMA was no less dangerous for all its pomp and circumstance.

Every classroom had its peculiar content, all threats, in some form or fashion.  Some rooms, like the small one Stein entered, were also deceptively inviting. Three red cushions laid inside a small ring, overstuffed with feathers and warmed by dozens of candles flickering merrily against the smoky darkness.  Odd candelabras stretched from the floor and columned walls, reaching toward the low ceiling with necks that bowed as if choked by unseen hands. Stein settled atop one of the cushions, fanning his black trenchcoat out behind him, and he was greeted by a strange scent.  The earthy smell eased his inhibitions, and the young meister waited quietly for two familiar faces, basking in the candles’ glow as the firelight exaggerated the tired bags beneath his eyes.

The door swung open to reveal the pleasantly plump silhouette of Gertrude Merryweather, the overseer of this dubious examination, decked out in a conservative black trouser suit with silver accents.  Stein mused, for a moment, that the lines of her weathered skin had never appeared so prominent. The white in her salt and pepper hair was swallowed by shadows.

“Good to know that that filthy thing is still in your wardrobe rotation,” the English lady said sarcastically, her Received Pronunciation magnificently neutral.  She disapprovingly eyed his trenchcoat while simultaneously beckoning another body across the threshold.

Stein didn’t need to see or hear Marie to know it was her, and he looked away as she settled in the seat across from him.  Still, he felt her wavelength with every fiber of his being. And though she was tentative, no longer shining white with arms wide open, her soul was friendly, beckoning Stein like a warm embrace or a lighthouse in the storm.  Reflexively they fell into a low-level resonance, and the world became clearer, easier with each passing minute.

All he had to do was tell the truth.

“Before we get started,” Gertrude said, clearing her throat as she sat on the third pillow, “a reminder of the parameters is in order.  These candles are mood altering, but not mood changing. Whatever happens is an exaggerated but authentic answer or reaction to the question posed.  Explore your responses, push the limits of your partnership as you know them, but take care not to fall too far out of sync.”

The professor paused, brown eyes darting between the pair for emphasis.  “Resonances tested under these conditions don't behave the same as before.  If you become closer or understand each other better, your connection will be stronger.  If you go to far in the other direction, you may find yourselves unable to match your wavelengths again, even in a crisis situation.  Is this a risk you're willing to take?”

The question was directed toward her dear Franken. Rightly so as exercises like this one fell squarely within the meister’s jurisdiction. Those brave few who wielded weapons couldn’t hide behind a hardened form during the heat of battle, the moment connections were tested the most. Stein’s peril was greater than that of fabled demon weapons like the mighty hammer Mjolnir. Nevertheless, he looked toward Marie for confirmation and was rewarded with a curt nod.

“Yes,” Stein answered honestly and without hesitation, for the second time that day.  “Let’s begin.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. It's been a while. Still here. Still updating. Just busy. And yes, I changed my username (again) to match my tumblr. That said, I hope you all know how much I appreciate your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions and comments. Even just an "I enjoyed this" is gold! Also, check out my Tumblr at [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/). Send me questions, comments or whatever else may be on your mind. I might even have a sneak peek to share, and I adore a good ask!


	13. Bitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This chapter is a long one, and I'm super excited to be posting it for you all with the usual caveat "no beta, no cry." As always, I appreciate your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions and comments more than you could ever know. Please don't be shy about reaching out because (frankly) I need the validation after hammering out a +4,000 word chapter! Also, don't be a stranger and check out my Tumblr at [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/). Send me questions, comments or whatever else may be on your mind. Also, a special thanks to [kate7h](https://kate7h.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr for [this fantastic piece of art](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/post/182931178741/youre-amazing-marie-for) that (I would like to think) is inspired by Worthy. Happy Reading!

The streets of Death City were exactly the same, but that didn't stop Marie from getting lost as she staggered through corridor after warped corridor. Through a pair of dilated pupils, the demon hammer Mjolnir squinted against the ever-tilting image of fishbowl streets, curved and caved in ways that were, in a word, impossible. The sun hung low in the sky, and the brilliance of the Nevada horizon, though painful to look at, bathed the scene in saturated hues. Marie could taste the smoke of car exhausts on her tongue; she could hear the sickening crunch of dirt beneath her feet, but all she could feel was the muscle memory of what has happened.

Warm body. Curious hands. Capricious mouth.

What in Lord Death’s name had she done?

The after-effect of Professor Merryweather's candles easily doubled the fifteen-minute walk from the DWMA to her apartment. Every sense remained heightened in a way that caused Marie’s heart, customarily worn on her sleeve, to openly dwell on the Norse features of her pretty face. And in response, her poor sense of direction became even worse. It was a miracle she made it to the threshold of her apartment, and even then - Marie would never admit it - old Mrs. Hyde had pointed out the right door.  
  
Once safely inside, Marie yanked the door shut and fiddled with the deadbolt until her frazzled nerves were satisfied. The young woman spun around and pressed her back against the hardwood, chest rising and falling with labored breath. When she opened her eyes, the image of her roommate, Azusa, swam in and out of focus. Azusa's dark hair, normally styled in a sleek bob, was thrown up in a messy top knot. A pair of slouchy grey sweatpants took the place of her starched trousers.

“Has our door always had that big scratch in the middle?” Marie blurted out in place of a greeting.

“Not always,” Azusa answered. She looked at Marie curiously, adjusting her glasses to regard her roommate better. “You put it there last year after the whole toilet debacle. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh,” Marie chuckled nervously, “of course. I’ve never really noticed it before. And has anyone told you that your bangs are like really straight? Like so straight. I mean, it’s crazy.”

The blonde’s dissipating giggles did little to reassure her astute roommate. With an exasperated sigh, Azusa placed her laptop to one side and gave her roommate her undivided attention.

"You seem out of it,” Azusa observed just before a dark look crossed her severe features. “Far be it from me to suggest that you can't take care of yourself, but did anything happen with Stein when you broke up with him?”

Marie’s face flushed a shade of ruddy red that put the sunset to shame. “Break up with Stein?” Again, she laughed anxiously. “We’re not _together_. We’re just partners.”

“You are just _partners_ ,” Azusa stressed, “as in you are _still_ partners? Which means that after everything Spirit and Kami told you yesterday, you’ve decided to keep working with him?”

Marie’s eyes shifted left and right, looking around for an answer that would explain away the day’s strange sequence of events. Simple words like “yes” or “no” died on her lips, and Marie scratched at the back of her head. “I’m not sure,” she said sheepishly. “It’s complicated.”

“It always is when you're involved,” Azusa proclaimed with mock irritation. She shifted to one side of their small, secondhand couch and patted the seat next to her with a softer expression that welcomed the truth, however convoluted it was. “Just tell me what happened.”

Marie eased into the space next to Azusa, careful to avoid the threadbare patches where exposed stuffing and springs scratched at their legs. She allowed her head to fall back and released guttural moan as she willed her lungs to take in more clean oxygen. The strong smell of those disastrous candles clung to her clothes and hair. Marie decided to come clean.

“I didn’t end it this morning like I planned to,” she admitted. “Stein told me what happened with Spirit wouldn't happen with me, and I wanted to give him a chance to prove it. He said there was a way to know for sure.”

“And you believed him?”

“Yeah,” Marie answered quickly. “I think he’s the only person I know who’s never really lied to me, not even to spare my feelings. No offense, Azusa.”

“None taken.” Through her jet-black fringe, the young woman offered her friend and understanding smirk. “So what did he do to prove it?”

“We did a question and answer exercise with these candles that smelled weird and make me feel woozy.”

At the word “candles” Azusa’s eyes widened. Her torso pivoted toward Marie, and when Azusa spoke, there was a curious note in her voice. “What candles?”

“You know,” Marie replied offhandedly. “Those candles Professor Merryweather is always going on about.”

“The mood-altering candles?”

“Yeah, those.”

“The mood-altering candles that exaggerate all your emotions to test the limits of a partnership?” Azusa explained rather than asked.

“Sounds about right,” Marie responded, pleasantly.

“The candles that Lord Death excluded from the mandatory curriculum a couple of years back because too many fights broke out amongst the meister and weapon pairs causing a partner shuffle of practically the entire EAT class? Those candles?” Azusa posed pointedly.

“Yeah… I’d forgotten about all that.” Marie’s teeth clenched in a forced smile.

“Marie,” Azusa exclaimed, “that was reckless!”

“I’m realizing that now,” the blonde admitted with a contrite grimace. “It didn't seem like a bad idea at the time, but we didn’t end up fighting anyway. I answered Professor Merryweather’s question. We talked and then…” Marie’s voice trailed off, and a dazed look clouded her chestnut gaze. As her head subtly lolled to the side, the pads of Marie’s fingers ghosted across her mouth.

“And then…”

Azusa’s tone begged a question Marie was much too hesitant to answer. How could she begin to explain the reason she bolted from their session in a heightened state of embarrassment? Fights between the students were expected from time to time; it was a natural consequence of the school’s objective. However, what had transpired between Marie and Stein wasn’t something done in the light of day. It was dangerous and taboo. A shared secret that often came back to bite those who dared to dabble, an infection which necrotized the strongest partnerships.

“I don’t know how to explain it, Azusa,” Marie said stubbornly. “I guess you just had to be there.”

The smirk that stretched across Azusa’s thin lips stole the thunder from her next statement before the words materialized into a request Marie knew she would oblige. Keeping secrets was difficult, but more often than not, Marie found that confidence shared between friends made her burdens manageable. And if anyone could rationalize the mess that Marie was in, it was Azusa.

“Well then,” the infamous girl nicknamed Committee posed as she closed her laptop, “I’ve got all evening. Why don't you start at the beginning?”

* * *

_Earlier that day_

“Yes. Let’s begin.”

No sooner than Marie had settled in the room than the candles had begun to do their worst. Her athletic limbs now felt heavy, anchored to the soft floor pillows by the weight of the responsibility Lord Death had placed on her shoulders. Taking advantage of her sluggish mindset, the scent greedily intertwined itself in Marie’s hair and the fabric of her casual clothes. With each inhale, the candles’ smoky haze scratched at the back of her throat; however, Marie swallowed her coughs with conviction alongside her lingering reservations. Stein’s wavelength reached out for Marie, and even though common sense counseled caution, she allowed their low-level resonance to blossom in something stronger. Better. A presence she’d sorely miss if ever she lost it for good.

Automatically, the young woman’s hand started to extend toward her partner, reminiscent of the way they’d held hands during their first resonance. But the ugly truth of what Stein had done to Spirit reared its head again, and Marie pulled back. Hand holding was juvenile, she reminded herself. And like Stein himself had said, physical contact was irrelevant to a strong resonance. Whatever feeling burned in her fingers, Marie told herself that Stein wasn’t capable of reciprocating it. She convinced herself that the candles were playing tricks on her. There wasn’t a jilted look in his eyes.

“Right to it then,” Professor Merryweather interjected. Her bright voice broke the brittle silence. “I think we should start with Ms. Mjolnir. Tell us, dear, in the plainest of terms, what you believe Franken’s flaws are.”

“His flaws?” Marie parrotted.

“Yes,” Gertrude responded with an obvious eye roll. “You should be able to spot at least one or two. Did you think we were here to tackle the easy stuff or recite positive affirmations?”

“No ma’am, I’m just confused s to why…”

“Come on, girl,” the English lady interrupted in a state of utter contempt. “We’re not going to get to the bottom of Franken’s happy scalpel hand unless you push him. Tell the man where he falls short and for the love of Lord Death do not say he doesn’t. Take it from someone who has done the leg work on that one; no man measures up all the time.”

Professor Merryweather’s thinly-veiled innuendo didn’t go over Marie’s head. In fact, they never had, and suddenly it felt harder for the young woman to ignore her teacher’s impropriety than to call her out as she sat like a preening peacock on her rich red pillow. Marie’s teeth gritted as she directed her attention toward Stein. Her chestnut eye met his unflinching green gaze in a way that sent shockwaves along the curve of her spine.

“You don’t think about anyone but yourself,” Marie confessed. “You’re selfish, Stein, and what good are all your gifts if you won’t do something for someone else once in a while? You distance yourself from everyone at the DWMA instead of trying to fit in and make friends, and then you look down on all of us ignorant peons who have to try so hard to keep up with you! It’s unfair!”

“Fair,” Stein repeated. The word rolled lazily off his tongue, and he leaned in, back hunched over with elbows poised on his knees and his face balanced on the bride of his knuckles. “There’s no such thing, Marie. Is it fair that my mind works in strange ways or that I can’t turn it off like the rest of you do? Fair is a term used to describe the weather, nothing more.”

“Do you think because I’m not as smart as you that I don't have problems or that I just switch my brain off at the end of the day and have a nice sleep,” Marie stressed. Her words came easily now. Too easily. “I’m scared, Stein. I’m scared of Circe and my father and failing Lord Death. Again. And the last thing I need right now is to be scared of you too. I want to trust you.”

Stein’s expression softened unexpectedly, and even Professor Merryweather’s thin brows arched high, threatening to disappear into her hairline. “Why do you want to trust me?” he asked. “Why aren’t you scared of me?”

Marie felt the blood rush to her face as the tell-tale pace of her thumping heart surged beneath the pretty Scandinavian embroidery of her top. “Because I like the way you push me, and I think you believe in me when everyone else underestimates what I have to contribute.”

The young woman paused, eye darting furtively toward the monitor of this dubious test.  In turn, Gertrude's gaze flashed between the two youths with a curious glint. Marie swallowed hard against the bitter lump in her throat and posed the question she came to ask.

“Would you hurt me?” she asked.

“No, Marie. Dissecting you doesn’t interest me.”

Somewhere inside her, the little voice in Marie’s head that urged her to stop was strangely silent. Marie pressed onward, sensing something hidden in their resonance. She had her answer; Stein wouldn’t hurt her, but she wanted - needed, perhaps - to know more about the feeling that slipped through the cracks of barriers Stein built in his mind.

“Does anything about me interest you?”

Stein’s posture straightened, head tilting as his gaze lingered over her figure. His tongue darted out his mouth to wet his lips, and for a moment, Marie felt pinned to the seat by the gravity of the answer dancing across his wavelength. Soul perception was not a skill within her repertoire, but it was hard to miss the mounting tension or the way the erratic focus of their connection made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

“Everything about you interests me.”

* * *

“Wait a minute.” Marie flinched as Azusa's voice interrupted her riveting narrative. She crossed the small confines of their living room with a fresh bowl of popcorn in hand and fell back against the small sofa. After setting the bow between then, Committee’s stern fingers strummed against the worn fabric on the couch’s armrest, and the scratchy green material audibly pushed back against the pads of her fingers.

“Are you sure he really said that?” Azusa asked. Her eyebrow arched skeptically. “You didn't happen to fall asleep in the library with a trashy romance novel, did you?”

“Are you calling me an unreliable narrator?” Marie countered. She popped a few pieces in her mouth and smiled at the heightened sensation. “I couldn't make any of this up if I tried. He said he wasn't interested in cutting me open in my sleep. I asked if I was at all interesting to him because Death knows a girl needs validation sometimes, and he said that everything about me interested him.”

“Okay,” Azusa’s tone oozed with doubt. “And are you absolutely sure that this is Franken Stein we’re talking about? Tall, white hair, propensity to pick himself apart and stitch himself back together?”

Marie glared at her roommate and crossed her arms defensively across her chest in a lecturing stance. “You see that attitude right there. You are part of the problem with Franken. I mean he’s a big part of the problem too, but everyone writes him off as ‘Franken-freakazoid’ and pushes him aside until he’s needed for a dangerous assignment or a challenging group project!”

Azusa’s hands flew up in self-defense. “Down girl. I get it; we shouldn’t make fun of Stein. I was just… How about you continue with the story.”

Marie met Committee's olive branch with the smallest amount of lingering resistance. But never one to stay angry, she decided to relent and accepted that, from then on, her roommate would be kinder to Stein.  The blonde eyed Azusa as if appraising the idea of continuing, and after a few moments of silent contemplation, Marie dived straight back into the story.

* * *

“That’s enough of that,” Professor Merryweather interrupted. She reached into the inner pocket of her jacket and produced a small fan. With a practiced flourish, the slats extended to reveal pretty cutouts trimmed in silver to match the accents of her suit. Gertrude fanned herself with gusto, stirring up the candle vapors.

“As I stated earlier,” the professor continued with a perturbed lilt, “we are here to focus on the faults you find in one another, and turnabout is fair play. Franken, tell Ms. Mjolnir what ails you about her, but be a gentleman about it. Pull your punches when it comes to appearances. I don't want a repeat of all the crying Mr. Albarn did.”

Gertrude leaned back against the columned walls of the small space, making herself comfortable as she extended her short legs toward the center of the room. With a steady inhale, Marie braced herself for Stein’s criticism, but the words never came.  No, Stein didn’t launch into a detailed diatribe. Instead, he calmly turned toward his mentor and addressed her with a hint of defiance.

“Weren’t you listening, Professor? There’s no such thing as fair or fair play. I’ve accomplished what I set out to, proved to Marie that I won’t harm her. There’s no longer any point to this exercise, and I don’t do pointless things.”

“Franken,” Professor Merryweather exclaimed in disbelief, “are you really going to pass up an opportunity to strengthen your resonance?”

Stein’s normally placid features sharpened in a rare show of emotion. “There’s nothing wrong with our resonance,” he sneered. “And I think you know that.”

The shock in the English lady’s lined face melted away. It was replaced by an odd look Marie struggled to comprehend.  Her mouth was set in a slight smile, and the professor's slumped posture was open, almost warm. A pair of soft eyes peered at her favorite student. 

Did she… _understand_?

Professor Merryweather rose, dusting nonexistent dirt from her trouser leg. “Well then, I suppose that concludes this exercise. Forgive me if I don’t stay to clean up. The smoke from these candles is rather noxious. I trust you know how to take care of all this, Franken.”

Without waiting for confirmation, Gertrude briskly left the smoky room, leaving her students to snuff the candles and remove the wax dripping down the polished candelabras. Stein sluggishly stood and offered his hand to Marie, grinning as much as he ever had outside the heat of battle. She smiled back, accepting his hand readily. Once upright, the world spun before Marie. She stumbled forward, right into Stein’s surprisingly warm arms.

“S-sorry!” Marie gasped. She righted her posture, stepping back a single pace. “I guess she wasn’t joking about these candles. I feel lightheaded.”

Stein looked down at their hands still joined in a chaste clasp.

“I do as well,” Stein mused aloud. 

His hand shifted in hers to interlace their fingers, and Marie sensed a heady hum vibrate through their electric resonance. Her breathing grew shallow as an unfamiliar heat pooled in the pit of her belly. Feelings she’d rationalized, ignored and buried came rushing back, and Marie was caught in the undertow. Her meister looked down at her, and she saw the same struggle plastered over his sharp features.

“You should probably go,” he said half-heartedly. His voice was ragged and rough like the fingers that had somehow come to caress the side of Marie’s face. Even as he asked her to leave, Stein traced the edges of her eyepatch with a fondness that almost broke Marie’s heart. “I can handle the clean up on my own.”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to stay.”

For reasons she couldn’t put into words, Marie leaned into Stein’s touch. It felt good, deliciously different from his firm grip on the handle of her tonfa form, but not entirely unrelated. Whether woman or weapon, Stein made her feel powerful and in control of her own destiny.

Their bodies were close now, nearly pressed together. Marie’s sense of propriety faltered as she openly considered the golden flecks in his green eyes and grasped at the ragged lapel of his dark trench coat. Likewise, Stein’s digits rubbed affectionately against hers, desperate for the delicate human contact that most would have denied him.

The tide turned, pushing the partners into a territory that ran afoul Lord Death’s sensible rules about meister/weapon fraternization. And Marie was no fool; she knew they should turn back for the safe shore. But the little torch she’d started carrying for Stein was now a raging flame, a lighthouse guiding them toward unfamiliar territory, and in the grip of her heightened emotions, Marie couldn’t deny her craving.

She needed to know if his lips would be as surprisingly soft as the look in his eyes.

It happened quickly, all told, filled with the kind of silent confirmations Marie should have had the good sense to vocalize. Stein’s head ducked down to meet Marie’s upturned face as his hand tangled itself in her wavy flaxen hair. Their lips met and pressed tenderly. They moved in time against one another, sending shockwaves straight through Marie’s body and into her sunny soul wavelength.

As first kisses went, the physical sensation was ordinary. It was not devoid of youthful fumblings and no less awkward for the practice Marie had picked up along the way. There was honesty in the way Stein’s mouth put pressure against her lips. And Marie, eager to indulge the need that swelled within every fiber of her teenage body, let the waves crest and crash. She deepened the kiss with a firm nip at his lower lip and wasn’t the least bit surprised when Stein smiled against her lips and rose to the occasion.

There was no other way to put it: He was a quick study in all things, and kissing was no exception. The hand in her hair tightened, and a growl rattled in Stein’s throat as his unseasoned tongue mimicked Marie’s movements, putting an insatiable spin on her earlier exploration. Fireworks clouded her common sense, and Marie found she liked the rough give and take Stein specialized in. She enjoyed the coarse texture of his stubble rubbing against her smooth skin. And when Marie’s teeth incidentally grazed against Stein’s bottom lip, she caught it with relish. After a measured suck to draw him farther in, Marie teeth’s nipped at Stein's lower lip, light enough to feel playful but firm enough to know the bite was intentional.

There was a sharp intake of breath as the meister processed what Marie had done, and finally, the growl that had rattled in his throat earlier escaped low and slow. Still, reality reared its ugly head, and all too quickly, Marie became aware of her posture, pressed against Stein with one fist clenching the material of his coat. Still breathless from the thrill, her eye shot open, and she pushed back, severing their resonance.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, pacing backward toward the door. “I didn’t mean to…” The lie died on her burning lips.  She had meant to.

Stein stood silently and brought his fingers to his reddened mouth. He traced the place where she had bitten him and looked to Marie with a quizzical expression.

“It’s my fault,” Marie rambled awkwardly, reaching behind herself for the doorknob. “I’m going to go.”

She fled the room as fast as her feet would carry her.

* * *

The silence was deafening.

Marie expected an outburst or admonition from Azusa, but instead, she sat, nonplussed as she munched a piece of buttered popcorn. “Say something,” Marie finally spat.

“I’m waiting for the punchline,” Azusa said, rubbing her fingers together to dispel the excess seasoning, “because you’ve got to be joking.”

“I’m not,” Marie groaned again, hiding her head in her hands. “I- I kissed Stein!”

Committee nodded thoughtfully as if mentally weighing the pros and cons of her next of statement. She shifted on the couch and opened her mouth to speak before quickly shutting it with a defeated sigh. Marie groaned again.

“I don’t know what to say,” she offered. “It’s bizarre. You hated him on Monday. You were scared to work with him after Wednesday. Now you _like_ him?”

“Just tell me it was the candles, Azusa,” Marie pleaded. “Tell me that you’ve heard of this type of thing happening before. Assure me that it’s not the sort of fraternization that’s sexual or romantic or that you would have done the same thing.”

Azusa scoffed.  “But I wouldn't have done that.”

A knock at the door brought the conversation to an end, and the collective attention shifted to the identity of their evening caller. Marie gave Azusa a sharp looking, silently asking her friend to handle the exchange and hoping (against hope) that it wasn’t who she most certainly knew it was. With an exaggerated eye roll, Azusa pushed herself off the couch and approached the door.

“Is that you Mrs. Hyde?” she asked hopefully.

“No,” answered a flat drawl that Marie immediately placed. “It’s Franken Stein, your classmate. I need to speak with Marie.”

Before Marie could signal her displeasure or shamelessly retreat to her room, Azusa forced the door open. She faced Stein with the unimpressed expression she’d come to specialize in and pushed her glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose. Azusa looked between her roommate and the boy at the door who looked every bit as disheveled and disoriented as Marie had during her sudden entrance.

“Look,” she said plainly, “I don’t know what's going on here, and I don't want to know any more than I already do. But, since you’re here, come in. You two clearly have some talking to do.”

* * *

Azusa left as suddenly as Stein had shown up with her laptop tucked beneath her arm and a pair of noise-canceling headphones stuffed in her purse. She looked ominously between the meister and weapon pair seated as far apart on the small couch as they could get and announced that she intended to be back in half an hour. “One way or another,” she added. “Resolve this. And,” Azusa’s eyes focused on Stein, “tread lightly.”

The door slammed closed, ushing in a feeling of finality. All the pretty excuses Marie had dreamed up floated away in Stein’s presence. His face looked paler than usual, save the redness of his lips and the piercing gaze that rooted Marie to the spot where she sat. The talkative young woman remained silent, sure that her partner had something important to say.

“This was my fault, Marie.  The candles were a bad idea,” Stein proclaimed. “I wanted to prove to you that I wouldn’t slip up, and I took it too far in the other direction.  You don't need to be apologetic.”

It was the kind of statement she’d hoped to hear from Azusa; however, Marie was too grateful to question the source.  The young woman turned to look at her partner, not knowing how he got her address or if the effects of the candles were still going strong. The room felt duller, but a newfound chemistry still fizzled in the electrical impulses of her body like a pleasant aftershock.

“So what happened doesn’t break the rules?” she posed hopefully. “We don’t have to report it or request reassignment?”

Stein shrugged. “It only means something if we want it to, and the way I see it, we’ll only be working together for a few more days at most. I think I can control myself if I chalk it up to hormones and a certain compatibility I didn’t anticipate.” He paused for a moment to, once again, stroke the bottom lip that she’d bitten. “What about you?”

Marie knew the right answer to this one. Saying she could keep her hands off Franken Stein was supposed to be a no-brainer, an easy A if ever there was one. And truth be told, he was too slender and pale to be of any real interest to Marie. He neither sounded or looked anything like Joe Buttataki, Marie’s longtime crush, whom, she vigorously reminded herself, she would gladly kiss over Stein any day of the week.

“You're right as usual," Marie confirmed brightly, saying it once more for herself more so than Stein. "I guess it was all those candles."

And maybe if she kept thinking that way, she’d start believing it too. 


	14. Liar, Liar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wait was long because my writer’s block was strong. Nevertheless, I’m proud to present chapter 14 (actually 13 because chapter 1 is a prologue). As always, your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes and reblogs give me life. Also, don't be a stranger and check out my tumblr at [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/). Send me an ask if you're ever curious about my progress. 14 of 16, y’all. The end is in sight.

There was a familiar comfort that came with being, as Spirit had so eloquently put it, unkissable.  Up and until 12 hours ago, Stein had shrugged it off, reasoning that it was impossible to miss something he’d never experienced.  But then, in a sequence of events more like a dream than reality, Marie had shattered his reasonable expectation of loneliness. Leaning into his body, she had pressed her soft curves against his lanky frame and allowed him to hold her hand, caress her face and press his mouth to her warm lips.

She shouldn't have done that, Stein mused with a smirk, wide awake at an hour when the rest of the world was silent and still.  For in the seconds between unkissable and kissable, Stein had consulted the empirical data. The candles could alter a mood, this was true, but they couldn’t create desire.  And the chemistry, if not the reason, behind love was terribly simple and fairly evident if one knew what to look for.

So, Stein had done as he was wont to do.  He had examined Marie and saw her pupils dilate, tawny brown irises nearly swallowed by a shade of beetle-black.  Stein’s fingers had brushed across her pulse point, and he’d noted the elevated thrum of her body. Yet, before he could consider his partner’s reaction opposite Lord Death's rules for weapon-meister fraternization, the heart of the matter, an organ Stein had been famously accused of lacking, thrust itself to the forefront.

 _Is Marie worth the risk_? he had asked himself.  Was the possibility of rejection or the near certainty of desertion worth the fluttering feeling in his stomach and the newfound clarity blossoming in his mind?  Whenever she was near, Marie’s wavelength enveloped him in a weighted blanket of calm and sanity. It was warmer than the feeling of a metallic scalpel in his hand and more comforting than any experimental drug he’d injected into his veins.

Stein replayed the next few moments in his head on loop, picking at the place she’d bitten him as if he could etch it into his flesh.  As dawn’s first light crept over the windowsill of his Patchwork Labs, he marveled at how easy it has been to kiss Marie where it was damn near impossible for him to do anything else as nature had intended.  She set no feminine traps, he knew, though Stein felt powerless to resist her all the same. And when she’d run in a state of alarm at what they’d done, he’d tracked her down, courtesy of a poorly secured filing cabinet.  Then, he’d concocted a white lie that would have weighed heavily on his conscious, had he had one.

_“It only means something if we want it to…”_

Stein saw himself as many things.  Insolent. Talented. Mad, to be certain.  But he had never fancied himself a liar. A least, not until a falsehood was what Marie needed to hear.  Selfishly, Stein also wanted their quest, a journey that started in earnest only five days ago on a sunny Sunday afternoon at Deathbucks, to continue.

How sickeningly conventional.  And yet…

The alarm clock poised on Stein’s desk sounded, cutting through the silence of his quarters.  As usual, his morning wake up call was, like everything else in his humble abode, sterile and shrill, without flaw or personality.  Sluggishly, the meister swung his bare feet to the cold floor, neither wincing nor recoiling at the jarring contact. Restless though the night had been, he rose dutifully, sliding onto his threadbare office chair and switching off the rude noise.

Stein poised his flashing spectacles on the bridge of his nose, and his screensaver came into focus.  Ever twirling, a meticulously labeled diagram of a large bolt appeared on the monitor, but Stein frowned at the sight of it.  For the first time in recent memory, he resented the terrible piece of hardware he’d designed to orient his wandering genius and questioned whether he should abandon the risky project altogether.  He rather liked thinking of Marie, even if their partnership had nearly run its course. In spite of her peculiarities - perhaps because of them - their dealings were fast becoming fond memories, moving mental pictures that Stein recalled in the forgotten corners of his day.

The hammer meister switched off his monitor with prejudice and spun round in his chair with a pep in his tired step.  He approached the closet and slid back the door to reveal his meager wardrobe: three identical uniforms, two sets of gym wear and his trusty black trench coat.  Franken retrieved a suitcase from the upper shelf and slammed it down on his disheveled bed; beginning to pack for the coming witch hunt in earnest. In light of his earlier promise to Marie, he decided not to pack his cigarettes.

Stein chuckled ruefully, mindful of his raging nicotine addiction.  Marie would make a liar of him yet, if only in pursuit of pleasing her.

* * *

A summons to see Lord Death was not commonplace, but it was an honor bestowed on Franken Stein on more occasions than he could rightly recall.  Indeed, he’d missed his last appointment entirely, and though in hindsight he knew the subject of their meeting had been his temporary partnership with Marie, he didn’t regret skipping it.  Lately, passing underneath the tunnel of bladed Torri gates felt ominous, as if the Shinigami’s laws held less purchase on his meandering morals. However, he had learned some time ago that defiance invited consequences.

“I hope we have high tea again,” Marie brightly prattled, striding alongside Stein and Professor Merryweather.  “Last time I was here we had crustless sandwiches, scones and clotted cream. I thought Lord Death was going to expel me, but he was so nice.”

“Yes,” Gertrude drawled, “our headmaster does like to soften the blow when he has unpleasant news.  The spread he rolled out for Mr. Wheap yesterday was truly impressive. Not that it helped the young man come to terms with his expulsion.  There’s something to be said for a straightforward approach if you ask me. Though I certainly won’t be the one to bring that up to Lord Death.”

Gossip spilled thoughtlessly from the English lady’s lips, and given the young girl’s expression, Stein knew that Gertrude’s scalding tea left a bitter taste in Marie’s mouth.  The mention of Reid’s name had piqued both students’ interest, but where Stein scornfully snickered at the mental image of Mr. Wheap receiving his just desserts, Marie appeared taken aback.  Her countenance diminished, arms crossed protectively over her chest with eyes downcast.

“I thought Reid was supposed to take remedial classes with a new partner,” she observed in a small voice.

The corners of Professor Merryweather’s mouth remained upturned as her voice deepened with dark solemnity.  “There’s always a choice,” she emphasized. “Mr. Wheap began acting erratically after his stay in the hospital wing.  He chose to make trouble for Lord Death, and little boys who can’t follow the rules don’t last long here unless they are uniquely talented.  Isn’t that right, Franken?”

Despite the gravitas of the moment, Stein scoffed.  He and his favorite professor shared a strangely satisfying sense of humor.  Still, the young meister supposed he should ease His partner’s conscious, especially now that Lord Death's dais was in sight.  With second chances being so rare at the DWMA he supposed that Marie should be in a good mood for their send off.

“The only thing extraordinary about Reid N. Wheap was how long he managed to hold you back,” Stein interjected.

Though her posture remained guarded, a smile tugged at the demon weapon’s lips.  Relieved, Stein shoved his hands in the pockets of his tattered trench coat and fought the familiar urge to lace his fingers through Marie’s.  Gertrude cast a suspicious sideways glance at her charge.

“Why, Franken,” she scolded.  “You were never this supportive of Mr. Albarn.  Where’s that sass I’ve come to treasure?”

Stein shrugged.  Another half-truth gathered on the tip of his tongue.  “I’m just stating facts.”

Lord Death’s reception of the trio was as bombastic as always, but Stein’s game face didn’t falter.  Truth be told, he resented the saccharine sweet mask that his God presented to the world. He, like Professor Merryweather, preferred the ugly truth to a candied facade.  However, Stein respected his master’s dilemma and kept his thoughts to himself.

The party of five sat around Lord Death’s trademarked tea table.  Marie eagerly munched crumpets and sipped a refreshing beverage while Franken and Gertrude refrained.  To Lord Death’s right, a bearded man snoozed. His audible snores tickled the ends of his graying mustache.  Though his professor’s short stature obliged her to look up at the slumped figure, Gertrude gave the old death scythe on duty a look of disgust and inferiority.  

 _Very old, indeed_ , Stein inwardly surmised.

“It appears some people have no sense of decorum,” Gertrude remarked.  Her words were clear and precise, cut glass in tone and timbre. “The nerve of him to slack off in front of a God.  I do apologize on his behalf.”

“No apology necessary,” Lord Death responded with a cheery wave of his oversized hand.  “Cain and I have been together a long time.”

Marie nearly choked on her delectable pastry.  She caught Stein’s eye and mouthed the question, _“The Cain?”_ as Professor Merryweather snapped her fingers in front of the snoozing death scythe wrinkled eyes.

In response, Stein nodded, amused with Marie’s endless wellspring of enthusiasm.  And yet, the ashen tint to Cain’s skin and paleness of his lips gave the young man pause, concern even.  A new era was coming, Stein knew, a changing guard for top-level meisters and weapons alike. For as sure as he was being groomed to fill Gertrude Merryweather’s misshapen shoes, talented weapons like Marie would also be called to contribute.  To say the role she was cast to play was dangerous was an understatement. To say it wouldn’t mesh with the picture perfect life Marie envisioned for her future was just common sense.

“Moving on,” the Shinigami announced cheerfully, “I must say that I am very pleased with the progress Mr. Stein and Ms. Mjolnir have made.  Professor Merryweather says your resonance is one of the strongest she’s observed in a pair of your age and experience.”

Marie grinned into her teacup, before placing it noisily in the saucer.  She remained utterly unfazed that she was the only one partaking in the modest feast. “Stein and I have worked hard,” she said, glancing at her partner.  Caught in her gaze the meister willed his wavelength to remain placid despite the hitch in his belly. “I trust him, and we’re ready for Circe.”

Though indiscernible by appearance alone, Stein felt Lord’s Death’s gaze linger as the grim reaper’s wavelength washed over him like a colossal wave of cold water.  The ragged black edges of his figure swelled as he regarded the pair before him, ever judging like a vengeful guardian of the scales. Would he see through their collective denial?  Would he know?

_“It only means something if we want it to…”_

Once more, he told himself that their kiss hadn’t meant anything.  Not a damn thing. Least of all to someone as soft and giddy as Marie.  He wasn’t her type.

“Alrighty then,” the Shinigami concluded; Stein breathed a small sigh of relief.  “You two leave for Ponza on the DWMA’s private jet this afternoon, but I urge you not to dilly dally around with the pleasures of sand and sun.  Circe is a cunning witch, and a persuasive enchantress, especially with men. As Marie should understand, she won’t hesitate to play dirty. If there’s an oldest trick in the book, there’s a good chance Circe authored it.  

“Do you understand the assignment?”

Stein smirked as a familiar itch surged in his idle digits.  Without question, a fight was something he knew how to handle, and with Marie resting in his steady palms, he felt powerful and prepared.  Unstoppable. Untouchable.

“Of course, Lord Death,” the meister responded dutifully.  “Marie and I are ready and at your disposal.”

* * *

Tucked away in the caldera rim of an extinct volcano, Ponza was a well-kept Italian secret - an oxymoron if ever there was one.  From a bird’s eye view, Stein noted the unblemished topography of the lush landscape alongside villages carved into the island’s striking rock formations.  As the DWMA’s private plane dove low for a water landing, the meister regarded the bright buildings lining the harbor and admired the timeless architecture which colored the quaint area with unmanicured elegance.

At some point during their descent, Marie’s hand had grasped his again.  But this contact, born of fear rather than affection, felt different than the last time he'd held her hand.  For this reason, Stein allowed the transgression, chuckling as Marie, not knowing her own strength, squeezed the blood from his fingers.  With a decisive thud, he closed the hefty tome Professor Merryweather had given him as light reading for the trip, a silly text concerning wavelength theories so tired and ancient that they were practically new age.

“I’ve thrown you around in practice, Marie,” he remarked, glancing sideways at his wincing partner.  “A landing can’t be worse than that.”

“When you do it, it’s different.  The feeling is so much worse in human form!” Marie stressed.  Her other hand clutched the padded handle of her floral overnight bag, and she breathed deep, pausing as the small aircraft jostled its precious cargo.  “I hate small planes.”

“I’ve noticed.”  Stein held her hand, without complaint, through every bump and jump.

Not a moment too soon for Marie’s liking, they landed with a hearty splash and taxied to a weatherbeaten dock.  The hammer weapon disembarked in a frenzy, nearly tripping out the plane and clutching the ends of her black sundress.  She steadied herself on a post jutting up from the tempest waters and breathed in the salty spray of the Mediterranean Sea.

“Back again,” Marie offered, surveying the outline of the island.  Despite the sea breeze gently flowing through her flaxen hair and the last light of the sun glinting off her exposed shoulders and prominent collarbone, concern lurked in the crease between her brows.  “Do you think we’ll get her this time, Stein?”

The meister paused.  Ever scheming and planning, he had already spotted a suspicious grotto along the west side of the island, between Capo Bianco and Chaia di Luna beach.  If the old tales were correct, Circe was rumored to dwell in such a cave during the doldrums of winter, and though summer nipped at the heels of spring in the balmy Mediterranean region, the eager meister suspected the witch would return to her grotto for rest and recuperation.  Ever reckless and delighted by the idea of additional battle scars, it was all Stein could do to stop himself from charging in then and there.

“I can’t be certain,” he said honestly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “but I’ve got those rubber-soled shoes you suggested, and I’m going to do my best to shock her soul out of her.  It should be fascinating. Are you ready, Marie?”

Unsurprisingly, Stein felt his partner’s answer before the young woman could verbalize the thrill humming through her wavelength.  By the unassuming look of her, she gave no one a reason suspect that underneath of layer of sunshine of daffodils, her resolve was an explosive supernova of conviction and strength.  Underestimating Marie was a mistake made all too often by his dimwitted classmates, meisters who balked at the sight of a challenge and weapons that rested on their laurels like pampered housepets.  And if given a chance to handpick his partner for this assignment or any other, Stein knew he could have done no better than the person standing by his side.

“Hell yeah,” she answered, and the truth hit him like a freight train.

He could lie to her, Professor Merryweather and the mighty Lord Death, but at the very least, Franken Stein was honest with himself.  

_“It only means something if we want it to…”_

He was hopelessly smitten.

 

To be continued...


End file.
